The Beckoning
by Silver Kitten
Summary: Dean gets amnesia and Sam struggles to help his brother remember a past he once wished he could forget. To make matters worse, a vampire is allured by that Winchester charm...COMPLETE!
1. Darkness Abounding

**The Beckoning**

Chapter One: Darkness Abounding

Expanded Summary: Post-Asylum. Dean and Sam are investigating a place they're sent to via those baffling text message coordinates. After an accident occurs, Dean gets amnesia. Sam struggles to take care of Dean, who has to basically relearn the harsh reality of the world they live in with the monsters prowling close behind. Sam also battles with his conscience. Should he remind his brother of the gruesome past and let him return to the crusade against evil? Or will he let Dean remain absent of cruel memories, and start life anew? Sam doesn't have much time to debate, as a vampire has set his eyes on a vulnerable Dean.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural; it's as simple and distressing as that.

A/N: This is my first attempt of a chaptered story for Supernatural, and I'm pretty excited as well as wary about it. I'm going to update as soon as I can, although I might do a Supernatural holiday story or so first. I won't beg for reviews although feedback, comments, suggestions, complaints, constructive criticisms are all welcome and definitely appreciated (maybe not so much the complaints, but hey- it's your opinion). Feedback truly helps me know where I stand as a writer and what I need to do to be a better one.

Warnings and otherwise: This is a work in progress. Let me know if the rating should change. Oh, and this will contain **_no_** slash/wincest, but sometimes I may overdo that whole brotherly love thing…I'll try not to…they're just so fricken cute together.

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-:-:-:-:-:-

"Ever wonder what our theme song will sound like?" Dean inquired casually. Sam shot him a quizzical look, raising an eyebrow.

"Excuse me?"

"The way I see it," Dean began, "Someday someone's gonna spin-off a show about us and what we do. We'll probably end up pretty famous; especially me, since I have the most sex appeal," he finished with a slight grin on his face.

"I have sex appeal!" Sam said defensively, sounding like a little boy who urgently needed to be heard. His voice echoed down the creaking halls of the old manor they were in.

"Nah, what you have is that 'kicked-puppy-you-wanna-hug' appeal. Some chicks like that, Sammy, so don't worry," Dean turned to face Sam, patting his younger brother on the head.

Sam quickly swatted Dean's hand away.

"Aw, does puppy wanna play?" Dean mocked with a widening grin.

"Moron," Sam sighed.

"Jackass," Dean quipped.

-:-

The two brothers had been wandering the halls of a worn house for nearly twenty minutes. They were there following a set of coordinates sent in another mysterious text message. Sam still did not trust this method of ghost hunting, but Dean wasn't going to ignore it and miss the chance to perhaps finally find their dad.

They weren't yet sure what they were looking for, but had all intentions of finding something. After all, every place has its secrets. Every closet has its monsters. The Winchester's knew that fair enough.

It had been easy for the boy's to break into the condemned grounds. "No Trespassing" signs had become a renowned and often laughable welcome sign for Dean and Sam. They could understand, however, why it was so easy to break in. The looks of the isolated manor had a way of warding off visitors on its own without a discouraging iron gate.

The manor had aged beyond its years. Its front columns looked as though they were struggling to hold up the roof, crumbling away itself. Against the many windows were rugged looking shutters, found mostly detached and hanging by a rusted nail. The windows themselves were foreboding. The darkness within the frame was so vivid you could almost feel the shadows pushing you away. For some, however, those shadows seemed to motion you into their dark lair.

Scraps of wallpaper hung scarcely to the walls as if they had been clawed out. The brothers took more time watching their step than they did searching for the unknown. Broken chairs, table halves, shards of bookcases and messily draped furniture cluttered the rooms and hallways.

Dean circled the stairwell with his flashlight, noticing what would have been a rather decorative carpet covering each step had it not been for the dust accumulating over it.

"So, do you wanna check this floor and I'll take the top?" Dean asked, and a sudden smile curved on his lips. "I like being on top," he added, jokingly referencing his friendly female expeditions.

"Um…how about we just stay together?" Sam suggested with a hollow chuckle. He tried not to sound too hopeful.

Dean tilted his head. Using the flashlight as some kind of interrogative device, he shined it on Sam's face and studied his squinting expression.

"We'd cover more ground if we split," Dean said, waiting for the logic to seep into Sam's apparent disapproval of separating.

"I know, it's just…" Sam paused as he remembered their last hunt at the Roosevelt Asylum. He remembered the anger taking control of him, shooting his brother with rock salt, and finally almost murdering him with a thankfully unloaded pistol. He feared if they separated, some other spirit might rattle his brain again and make him say things he didn't want to say, or twist the truth. "I think it'd just be best if we kept in each other's sight, at least…until we find out what we might be up against,"

Dean took a moment to realize the fear dwelling in his kid brother's eyes. As an older brother, he had a knack for understanding when Sam was scared. Sam's eyes told him more than words could. He didn't think Sam was really scared about what they were hunting, but he had a feeling it had something to do with parting from him.

Sam gave a sigh and shrugged his shoulders anticipating a response from Dean. Dean nodded.

"All right, Sammy," he began, taking the first few steps upstairs. He turned around briefly and looked down over his brother with menacing eyes. "But don't look at my ass."

A quick smile came and left quickly to Dean's lips, one Sam returned fully while shaking his head while following his brother upstairs.

-:-

The upstairs was no better than the rest of the manor thus far; in fact, it was worse. It was blatant the floorboards beneath them were rotting away and probably had been for quite some time. They'd passed several rooms, all which doors had been left open. All of them were primarily the same, mostly empty with all the curtains tightly shut. No light was wanted inside, that was obvious.

The two meandered through the long hallway, darkness abounding. Their flashlights did little to help them see. Reaching the end of it they saw a door. It was the first room that appeared to mind having company, so it was exactly what the Winchester's were looking for. Dean was first to inspect it. He was usually first to jump into things. Sam came to expect it.

The doorknob was frigidly cold and the door creaked as it opened. The door hinges seemed so agitated that the brothers wondered if it would snap out of place. Thankfully it did not and they were spared what might have been an unwelcome ruckus.

"Oh look," piped the eldest brother, "More darkness,"

The room revealed an old mattress sitting diagonally on a dilapidated bed frame, a desk with drawers missing, some scattered about the dusty floor, and tattered drapes blocking out the moonlight. Dean stepped forward into the room, the pitiful light from his flashlight as his guide. He took no hesitation in whipping open the curtains to allow more natural light inside the room, and as he did the shadows seemed to shriek, running into corners.

"Dean," Sam's voice broke softly, though he tried to sound firm. "There's nothing here,"

"We haven't even checked out the rest of the house, Sammy. Don't be so pessimistic," Dean cheerily told his younger brother who could only roll his eyes.

"It's _Sam_. And maybe you shouldn't be so optimistic. Look around. There is nothing here to suggest a haunting, no stories running about this place even in tabloids. This manor has been empty and uninhabited for a long time,"

"Why would dad send us here then?"

"Who says _he_ sent us?"

"Ohh," Dean forced a laugh. "That's right. We're chasing coordinates sent by some ghost, probably as a result of some bogus conspiracy against us. Those tricky bastards. They'd have gotten away with it, too, if it weren't for us meddling kids."

"Go to hell," Sam spat with annoyance.

"Been there. Done that. Don't recommend it," Dean retorted.

Sam paced lightly around the room for a few moments, thoughts heavy on his mind.

"Maybe…maybe dad doesn't want to be found," Sam said, and immediately regretted it after catching his brother's burning glare.

"What the hell," Dean censored himself before swearing as he took on a more serious question. "How do you come up with something like that?"

"It's simple. He's not here. He wasn't at the Asylum. He wasn't even at our old house, after you _begged_ him to come. You need to accept the possibility that maybe he's abandoned us,"

"Bullshit," Dean turned away from his brother as if turning away from the truth he didn't want to face. "He wouldn't just abandon us, not like that. Not like _you_ did,"

Sam bit his bottom lip and closed his eyes, instantly knowing Dean referred to Stanford. _He said that to hurt me...he didn't mean it…_

"Then where is he?"

"Why are you asking me? Aren't you supposed to be the all-knowing, psychic one?"

"Whatever. Good luck hunting what's not here. I'll be in the car," Sam decided to ignore his brother's imprudent comment.

"Leave then. But if I find something cool I'm not coming back for you, Sammy,"

"_Sam_. And don't bother coming back at all," the youngest brother said lowly, not sure where the vacant words came from. He was letting his anger affect him, something he was desperate not to do. Had the events in the Asylum done more to him than he suspected?

Sam didn't want to prolong the argument any longer, so he did as he said and left, shutting the door behind him not waiting for Dean's response.

-:-

_I shouldn't have said that. _

A thought crept into Sam's mind.

_**You said it to hurt him, like he hurt you.**_

It was like he was hearing a voice: a voice coming from inside his head, but not the voice of his thoughts. They were someone else's thoughts. It was someone else's voice.

"What the…" Sam spun around in the nearly complete darkness, his flashlight a meek aid to see his surroundings. "Dean?" Sam peered down the hall. The door was still shut and Sam hadn't heard it creak open.

**_You won't catch him when he falls..._**

Sam heard the voice again inside his head. That foreign voice…what was it?

-:-

"_Sam_. And don't bother coming back at all," he said it loud enough so Dean could hear him, but quiet enough for it not to encourage a response. Dean watched as Sam closed the door behind him, and only when he heard it click shut did he soften his expression to a sympathetic one.

_I can't do this by myself…why do I push him away?_

**_You always caught him when he fell. You can't catch him forever._**

Dean struggled within himself for a moment, wondering where this strange…voice…erupted from inside his head. Or was it in his head?

The flashlight's pale glow crossed over around the room as Dean searched for a potential source for this voice. It was then he saw it.

"Another door…" Dean said below a breath, as if to confirm it for himself. He didn't see it before. It was partially hid behind the desk. He looked around the dark room realizing he was alone, listened for a moment. He didn't hear anything. "Weird." He brushed it off, hesitantly.

He moved the desk, scrapping it across the feeble wooden floor, until he had enough room to open the door. He clasped the doorknob steadily and slowly turned it.

_**Who will catch you when you fall?**_

The voice hollered at him, but he already opened the door. It was too late.

-:-

Sam accidentally dropped his flashlight and it clicked off. Left in complete darkness, he crouched to the floor and felt around for it. Wary of the voice, he was slightly frantic in his search. It couldn't have rolled that far from him.

Finally, his hand grasped the flashlight and before he turned it on he saw _something _slide by him.

That's one thing you learn when you spend most of your life in the dark, how to see shadows move.

He hastily clicked the flashlight back on, in the direction of the swiftly moving shadow. The beam of light struck the door, the door to the room where Dean was.

"**He is falling. He isn't coming back…**"

This time Sam _heard_ the voice. It wasn't just in his head but all around him, almost choking him it was so loud, so close…too close.

Instantly, his heart skipped. He knew his brother was in trouble. He _felt_ his brother was in trouble. Without a moment's hesitation, he ran.

Then, he heard something else, something harshly familiar that he hated to hear.

His brother was screaming.

The door seemed so far away. Sam _swore_ it wasn't that far away before. He continued to run and once he reached the door he didn't bother using the handle. He slammed his body right into the decrepit door, crashing to the floor along with it.

A light shone into his eyes. Sam focused, narrowed in on it as his vision cleared. It was Dean's flashlight, unoccupied.

"No," Sam could barely exhale. He stood up, his body sore, and saw the other door, swung open with a faint light coming from it. He stumbled over to the door and saw the floor was missing.

_Not missing. Broken._

Splintered shards of wood remained along the borders of the small room, a closet maybe.

Sam examined the gapping hole, using what courage he had to look down into it. He stepped cautiously to the very edge, grabbing the doorframe to keep his balance. And there he was. Not one, not two, but three floors down. Covered in rubble, hardly recognizable below rotting floorboards and a haze of relocating dust was where his body remained motionless.

"Dean!" Sam yelled at the top of his lungs, hoping his voice would reach his fallen brother. "Hold on, Dean, I'm coming for you!"

-:-

_I watched as the young hunter struggled with the sight of his fallen brother. His eyes glossy with fleeting hope, his fists clenching to hold onto what elusive faith he might have that his older brother, much like in his youth, was still invincible. _

_How foolish mortals are…_

_I hesitate to arise from the shadows and make myself know, at least outright. I much rather toy with the shadows in their hearts, masking the fears they desperately try to hide. It makes for a much more suitable kill in the end. And as for the fallen…you shall soon be mine._

_And you, young hunter…only suffering awaits…_

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-:-

**_To be continued_**… (I sure hope someone wants it to be, lol)

Thanks for reading!

Silver Kitten


	2. Cataclysm

**The Beckoning**

Chapter Two: Cataclysm

**A/N**: All I have to say is that I am _overwhelmed_…Thanks **so** much to all those who've read and who've reviewed. If I haven't thanked you personally yet, and you left a source for me to contact you at, I definitely will. I just wanted to get this written and posted as soon as possible, and between this and work and the holidays coming up it's been pretty busy. I hope not to let you down with future installments! Oh, and my mistake in chapter one, I never specified the gender of "the voice"…so I kinda had to throw that in this chapter. Sorry about that. Now, onward with the story…

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-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Sam could hardly recall the past few moments. Adrenaline coursed through him as he practically jumped down the flight of stairs and weaved through the dark, narrow hallways, searching for a way into the cellar. All he could think about was getting to Dean. Was he still breathing? Was he still alive?

_Don't leave me…_

He couldn't let himself panic, not when his brother needed him. He reached the stairway leading to the cellar but could not take the proper time to brace himself for the worst-case scenario. As far as he was concerned, there could be no worst-case scenario. It was impossible to even think his brother was—

_No one is invincible…but Dean…he's the strongest person you know. He'll fight. He's fighting._

Sam nearly fell down the stairwell, feeling the multiple steps were tiny obstacles preventing him from reaching his brother.

Pure darkness surrounded him, save for the grim moonlight seeping in through cracks in the broken floors of the house, revealing partially shattered windows above. Sam quickly pushed the thought away of the entire manor caving in on them. The first beacon of hope he saw was the first light switch he'd seen since they entered the manor. Or maybe it was the first he really took time in hoping to find. He flicked the switch on and gave a silent praise as light overtook the darkness of the room. No light, however, could overtake the darkness before him, seeing Dean beneath collapsed wreckage.

He immediately dove for his brother, taking what blocks and pieces of debris he could and throwing them off.

"Dean, can you hear me?" He wasn't sure if it was fair to expect a response automatically, considering the circumstances. He'd give anything to hear a smartass remark or a blunt insult to quit being such a wuss.

He continued through Dean's silence to remove the debris. Sam wondered about possible broken bones or internal injuries, and if it would be safe to move him. He wasn't a doctor but he'd seen it observed enough during the mildly frequent trips to the E.R. when they had been younger.

Dean's head and upper back seemed to be covered with most of the debris, although his entire body was pinned by one massive portion of the above floor. Sam winced at the sight of blood that consumed most of his brother's head, trickling over his face.

"Dean," Sam wasn't sure what else to say but to call out for his brother. It had appeared the prior bearings of the house may have broken the worst part of Dean's fall. Still, Sam couldn't be completely sure about internal injuries. Whether Dean would have willed it or not, Sam was going to get him to a hospital. This did not seem an injury a small first-aid kit could handle.

The only question was how to get Dean up to the Impala.

Sam, for the first time since reaching his brother, took his eyes away from the situation to investigate the surroundings. Through weak light he could see boxes and old furniture pieces, nothing unusual from the rest of the manor.

He pulled his brother up, lifting his head to his shoulder for support. Sam was relieved to hear his brother still breathing, as shaky of breaths as they were. Dean's pulse was low but still beating and for Sam that meant hope.

All Sam had to cling to in this life was Dean…and hope. If he lost one, he'd surely lose the other.

"I'm gonna get you out of here," Sam promised himself and his unconscious brother. He looked around again. The only way out was up. "You might hate me for this, later,"

He stood warily while trying to support Dean's deadweight, not wanting to hurt him anymore than he might already be. After maintaining the balance of himself and Dean for a moment, Sam took time while impatiently maneuvering his brother to his side so to better carry him. He needed to get Dean out of there, and fast.

Adrenaline was helping him out graciously but it would never be enough if Sam couldn't get Dean to a hospital in time. His strength was fading but he knew he had to be strong enough for them both. Although his stamina was slowing with every sluggish step up, knowing it brought Dean closer to help granted him all the more energy. He was careful though to put most all the weight on himself and keep Dean supported.

Finally reaching the top and after nearly tumbling back down, the rest of the venture was a task only due to the darkness. Dawn was approaching and so more light was able to leak in from the rising sun, which helped a little.

"Stay with me, Dean," Sam talked to his virtually lifeless brother. When Dean responded with a weak moan, it was all Sam needed to hear to finish the journey back to the Impala.

Sam understood Dean would be utterly pissed when he saw the bloodstains covering the precious interiors of his car, but he couldn't be bothered by that now. He carefully slid Dean into the passenger seat. Sam took off his jacket and put it behind Dean's head for support, and to add a bit more pressure to the bleeding. He then shut the door carefully, but quickly, and hopped over and into the driver's seat.

There was no speed limit to Sam as he sped off towards the local hospital. He felt a small sense of pride in his consideration to make sure he knew where all hospitals were located in every new place they took on a hunt. Just incase.

-:-

_Sam stood alone in a cemetery. The moonlight knitted through the fog circling him in the cold darkness. _

"_Dean?" he called out and heard nothing but the echoes of his voice. There was no wind he could feel, but still the fog was moving all around him. He moved anxiously about the cemetery grounds filtering through the clusters of unmarked gravestones. Where was his brother?_

"_Dean!" he called out again louder, and this time the echoes seemed to shake the ground. For a moment Sam lost balance but quickly regained it while pausing, waiting for the ground to stop shaking. He glanced around until he saw an orange flame rise up from the earth, it hissed to life and as fast as it arose it died out, leaving behind a new grave. Sam gulped, using more energy than necessary to swallow as his mouth began feeling dry and his eyes began to moisten. He walked toward the gravestone as it melded in with the fog. _

_Each step he took brought him closer to reading the name etched in the new stone. He feared what it would read. It couldn't be…no, it wouldn't be…_

_Sam's mouth gaped open as the fog cleared momentarily and the name was becoming visible. _

"_**He isn't coming back…**" _

_That damnable voice returned. Sam swung around in a stance prepared to attack, though he didn't know with what as he was weaponless. _

"_Who are you? Where is my brother?"_

"_**It does not matter, not anymore. He isn't coming back. I won't let him.**"_

"_Son of a…" Sam realized he still had no idea of where the voice's source came from. As loud, near deafening, as it was, he could only make out that it was a middle-aged male who was seemingly omnipresent. "Show yourself, you coward!"_

_The man laughed with eagerness and pity._

"_**Tell me, what will you do without big brother to protect you?**"_

"_I swear," Sam gritted his teeth, flashing looks in all directions. "If you hurt him, I'll kill you,"_

"_**My boy,**" the man's voice dropped to a somber note with a comical twist. "**I'm already dead.**"_

_With that, fire erupted again before him, sending him to the ground from a blast of heat. _

-:-

Sam shot up, startled, trying to draw away from the residual feeling of flames clawing at him. He nearly toppled out over his chair. Ignoring the prying eyes of other people in the waiting room, he quickly shook off the nightmare and attempted to regain composure.

He blinked open tired eyes and looked around, trying to recall what happened.

_Dean was hurt badly…drove him to the hospital…checked him in…waited…_

Sam was still waiting. He looked at his watch reading 9:47 a.m. He didn't seem to retain the concept of time when his brother was injured. He wondered how long it'd been since they arrived there, how long Dean was being taken care of. He then wondered how much longer he'd have to wait to hear if his brother would be okay. He couldn't wait. Luckily enough, he woke up just in time to see a doctor walking towards him.

"Sam?"

"Yes. My brother, Dean, is he"—

"Please, sir, calm down a moment," the doctor tried to politely calm the worried young Winchester down. He placed his hand on Sam's shoulder, and nodded his head towards the hall. "Walk with me,"

Sam wanted to refuse, he wanted answers now, but something in him restrained from lashing out. He knew he'd have to cooperate if he wanted to see Dean sooner than later. _But where was Dean?_

"Your brother has suffered from a harsh concussion. The concussion itself is nothing too extensive, however I recommend keeping him overnight for observation. After that, you'll need to keep a close eye on him, and,"—

"I know," Sam interrupted the familiar speech. It was nothing new to him. Dean has had concussions before. "So he'll be okay? Is he awake? Can I see him?"

The doctor looked away for a moment. As the two walked at a slow and steady pace down the pale-lighted hall, it seemed the doctor was preparing another diagnosis, one for Sam.

"Look," Sam eyed the name badge on the almost-too-white jacket of the doctor, "Dr. Chase? Just…tell me. My brother will be all right." It wasn't a question Sam was asking, but a plea.

"Dean will be fine, at least…in the physical sense,"

Sam's body tensed.

"What do you mean?" He almost glared at the doctor. What a pathetic place to pause, as if to beg for Sam to ask the obvious question. Of course he wanted to be indulged. This was his brother, his family.

Dr. Chase sighed. "There's no easy way to say this,"

"Then just say it! And don't even think about going into Medical School lingo with me." Sam spat. He was usually always cordial, but if it came to his brother he could get downright demanding. "I'd just like to know, in plain English, what's wrong with my brother, _please_,"

"Sam, your brother has amnesia,"

Sam stopped walking as if Dr. Chase's words had fallen onto the floor. Sam had almost bent down to pick them up and put them together in a way that was coherent, that was acceptable.

"Amnesia," Sam said the word like it was a demon. He bit his bottom lip and became engrossed in thoughts of how this demon could be slain. Could it be killed? If it was a demon and it could be killed, Sam would surely find a way.

"Sam?" Dr. Chase called to Sam like he was in a far-off place. "I need you to stay focused for me, okay? Your welfare is going to become extremely important for your brother, now,"

Sam could have scoffed if his voice wasn't hiding, if his entire body wasn't numb. _My welfare has always been important to Dean, more so than his own…_

He forced himself to nod with bitter compliancy.

"Now, with the damage his brain endured from the fall, it's still hard to say how long his amnesia will last. Most patients can expect a full recovery."

"But not all? Not my brother? That's what you're telling me," Sam fought the urge to cry. And even though Sam knew Dr. Chase didn't give Dean amnesia, he still wanted to punch him in the face for being so clam about it.

"This amnesia can last anywhere from a few days, to a few weeks…maybe a few months, and perhaps," Dr. Chase stopped and looked at Sam with…was it pity? "In some cases, the memory never returns,"

The look glazing over Sam's watery eyes that Dr. Chase observed to some would seem of fear. To others it would seem like terror.

Sam put his hands to either side of his head and tightened his grip, nearly pulling his hair. He shook his head and without knowing it began to pace alongside the doctor, who only could watch with sympathy. Sam coughed out a small laugh as one might if they heard something that was unbelievable.

"It's retrograde amnesia, meaning his memories from before the accident aren't…there, to simply put it. Amnesiac patients confuse easily, they can become frustrated easily. With the concussion we need to monitor him until we see no further potential complications."

"Can I see him?" Sam's eyes widened. He hadn't really listened to the doctor talk since he heard the word 'amnesia'. All he could think about was Dean…alone in some hospital room. Dean hated hospitals, especially being alone in one.

"I won't deny you that request; however I _strongly_ suggest giving him time to…adjust,"

"No, please," Sam faced the doctor and looked at him sternly. "I need to be there with him, I…just, please…"

A beeping noise quietly went off and Dr. Chase pulled back his jacket and saw the faint glow of his pager. He sighed and looked back up at Sam.

"You'll need to get more information on this before Dean can be released tomorrow, assuming his vitals are strong enough. You must understand, if you go see him, he may panic and not want to see you. Are you ready to handle that?" Dr. Chase had firmly placed a thorn in Sam's side.

"I'll do whatever I have to do. I just need to see my brother."

"Very well," Dr. Chase pointed down the bare hall. "He's in the last room on the left."

Sam would have made a decent jock in school if he gave sports (outside of hunting with his father) half a chance for as quickly as he sprinted towards the room.

"Sam," Dr. Chase yelled, and Sam hardly stopped before turning to face him again. "He's going to need your support, now more than ever…even if he doesn't realize it yet. This is going to take time and it's going to be a healing process…for both of you." With that, Dr. Chase did his own fast walk to the hospital lobby. Sam drew in a cold breath.

-:-

He was scared to look through the room window and see his brother lying there, helpless. He knew though that anticipation was the worst.

_Just get this over with…_

Sam stood in front of the window and refused the awkward temptation to look into the room. He wanted to see his brother, a visual confirmation of his well-being. And yet he didn't want to see his brother. Not in some tacky hospital dress, with I.V.'s and tubes running through him.

He decided he'd have to see his brother sometime, and he made the choice of doing it now.

He didn't realize how painful it would be. How much it would physically hurt him to see his brother in this condition. Could he really have amnesia? Could he forget so easily his entire life?

It was surreal.

Sam had to see for himself the extent this demon has affected Dean.

He tried to be quiet as he walked into the room and shut the door gently. He took small steps to his brother's hospital bed. Dean's eyes were closed, and for a moment Sam just stood there at his bedside and listened to the sound of his breathing. He relished in it. He looked so peaceful, so much at rest.

_If Dean hadn't survived the fall…_

Sam grimaced at the thought of losing his brother. He placed his hand atop Dean's. The light gesture was enough to startle Dean awake, which startled Sam.

"Hey," the word tumbled out of Sam's mouth. Simple. Ordinary. It was the only thing that reached his voice, for all other things he wanted to say would have spouted out unintelligibly if he didn't say something, anything.

Dean's eyes were glossy, slightly red, and they looked up at Sam with curiosity.

"…Who are you?"

Sam's stomach moved into his throat, which he carefully took time to swallow. He hadn't expected that question. At this point, Dean should be saying something like 'What do you mean, hey? Are you hurt? Are you okay?'

Although Sam didn't always appreciate it, or welcome it, he still understood it was who Dean was. And Dean's baby brother always came first.

"Me? I'm Sam…I'm…"

_Your brother. Don't you remember me?_

"Sam? Huh…that doesn't…do I know you?" Dean asked. He then looked around the room, and disregarding the prior question, asked "Where am I? Why am I here?"

"You fell. We were in a house, investigating, and, I…" Sam suddenly felt guilty. If he hadn't left Dean, then maybe he wouldn't have fallen. Maybe Sam could have caught him.

"Investigating what?" he asked now, becoming more aware, more frantic. Sam wished this was some practical joke Dean was playing. He was managing to turn everything that came out of Sam's mouth into a question. Sam wanted to say, 'Joke's over, ha-ha, very funny,' but he knew this wasn't a joke, and hardly anything near a laughing matter.

"Please, don't panic, Dean," Sam paused, not really knowing what to say now. And it was then Sam realized the seriousness of it all.

"Dean…I heard someone say that name, before I woke up here, I thought. Who's Dean?"

Sam eyed the room suspiciously, looking for the hidden cameras to some ridiculous Candid Camera show.

"You're Dean. That's your name. You don't remember because you have amnesia," he felt incredibly weird talking to his older brother like he was a mere child, learning something for the first time.

Dean seemed to take in what Sam said, only partially letting it register. He then quickly looked at Sam's hand on top of his and caught Sam's concerned gaze once again.

"Are we…gay?" Dean sounded worried, sliding his hand out from Sam's grasp. Sam felt a laugh readying to emerge, there was something sweetly naïve and unfathomably tragic in the question.

"No," Sam quickly smiled and then reversed to a frown. "We're brothers,"

_How could you forget…_

Dean opened his mouth to say something and then shut it, looking away ashamed and embarrassed. After a moment of thought and brief speculation, he returned his attention to Sam.

"…I don't remember you,"

It was those words that sent for Sam's tears to burn in his eyes. He fought to contain them, fought to be strong, but Dean was the one who hid tears, the one who was strong when everyone else was weak. Not Sam.

For an instant, Sam had a feeling he understood what his brother must have felt like when he left for Stanford: completely abandoned by the one person who had always been there for you, regardless. Sam wanted to be angry but he knew there was no foundation for anger, at least directed towards Dean. He could be angry at the world, angry at their dad, and maybe he was both of those; however, most of all, he was angry at himself.

And he looked at Dean with sadly pleading eyes, and he saw for the first time his hero who'd lost a battle, and a brother who was a stranger.

The Dean who Sam knew didn't survive the fall.

Sam kneeled down to be eye level with his brother and he took in a shaky breath.

"It's going to be frustrating, all this not knowing. I know you have and are going to have a million questions. I know you're confused and scared, and you don't know who to trust. But I'm going to tell you, to ask you, to trust me…and I promise I'll do whatever I can to help you remember…Will you trust me?" Sam asked, holding in a breath in anticipation for his brother's response.

"There's something about you…that look in your eyes…It's really kinda creepin' me out. Something's telling me I can trust you…I just…don't know if I can trust myself, whoever _that_ is," Dean spoke carefully, like he was choosing his words rationally instead of being wrapped up in that submissive confusion. It was enough for Sam, for now.

"We'll work on figuring that out," he exhaled with a tinge of relief and let himself smile, trying to ease any tension in the room. Dean went to smile too, but then winced. "What's wrong?" Sam asked anxiously.

"Just…my head really hurts," Dean squirmed in the hospital bed trying to get comfortable.

"Yeah, that's…the concussion. The doctors say you're doing better, now. You really should get some rest," Sam took a mental note of how he suddenly sounded like the older brother, like Dean had suggested so many times that Sam get some rest.

Dean slowly nodded and shut his eyes for a moment, then abruptly opened them, half hopeful that Sam hadn't left yet.

"Hey, um…are you still going to be here when I wake up?"

"Definitely. I mean…if that's okay…" Sam fidgeted with his hands, wondering what Dean would say.

"Yeah, it's…comforting to know someone's there for you…ya know?"

"Yeah," Sam couldn't help the sadness in his voice. "I know,"

Sam sat down in a chair near his brother's bed, watched silently as he drifted off to sleep. He wondered how he was supposed to deal with this by himself. Dean was in the same room as him and still he felt somewhat alone. He couldn't do this alone.

"Come back to me, Dean," Sam whispered, as warm tears streaked down his cold skin. In the silence of the room, in the presence of his sleeping brother, Sam cried.

His brother was unidentifiable next to him, but Dean's identity was there somewhere. Sure, Sam was good at finding things. He found random facts whenever he'd research their latest job, he'd find missing clues to puzzling mysteries, he'd even find the best motel rates in any given city.

Finding his brother would be a whole different journey, but it was a journey he was determined to take.

Sam would finally see who Dean was behind the emotional barriers, before the unwarranted cataclysm of Dean's youth corrupted his childhood innocence and forced him to grow up instantaneously. Who would Dean be if he had a fresh start? Who _is_ Dean when there are no monsters hiding in his past?

The questions seemed to only make Sam's tears singe in his eyes.

_Is this my turn to be the protector? Is this my chance to save my brother? Can I save him from our destiny?_

With all thoughts swarming in his mind, and one last look over at his lost brother who he vowed to find again, he let the intensity of the moment slip away into that lush pull of restful sleep.

-:-

**It was almost frightening how effortless it was for _him_ to stand there outside the room, examining the sleeping Winchester boys. How uncomplicated it would be for him to walk in there...put their suffering aside, and _end it all_…**

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_To be continued_

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A/N (again): I just wanted to apologize if my Sam and Dean were too out of character. It's kind of a different prospect when dealing with amnesiac Dean, so I'm trying to find his… "voice", how he'd act…. Oh, and that "gay" line, I meant no offense with that line, I just had an inkling to throw it in there and so I did and I'll hope I don't get in trouble for it. Also, for those who are wondering about the vampire…he'll make a more known presence in the next chapter, I promise. I hope to have another chapter up soon, hopefully before Christmas.

Thanks so much for reading!

Silver Kitten


	3. Unreachable

**The Beckoning**

Chapter Three: Unreachable

Author's Note: Of course I need to thank ALL of you who read/reviewed…thank you SO much. I'm sorry it's been a few days since my last post. It's just, one of my cats is really sick, and today she finally had surgery and I found out earlier she might not make it through the night…so, I've just had that on my mind as I finished writing this. Please forgive any choppiness…I tried to make it flow but I might have gotten caught up with trying to get the story moving faster for you. If anyone has any questions or concerns, feel free to bring them up and I'll answer.

Now, I'm gonna go pray for my kitty. But you can stick around and read and review, if ya like. Feedback is certainly appreciated. Thanks so much.

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"_**I'm already dead**."_

_What? That voice…where have I heard it before?_

_The darkness was everywhere, the moonlight was gone…_

_But I could hear laughter, that mocking laughter…_

"_**I'm already dead**." He laughs. _

_Why is that so familiar…_

"_**You should remember me. I haven't forgotten you…**"_

"_Who are you?"_

_Silence. And then…_

"_**I am your biggest mistake, and your brother will pay the price**." _

"No!" Sam heard the word shouting out of his mouth before his eyes opened, shaken awake from another nightmare. The thought, the voice…it was making itself known as something familiar. Sam felt the presence of this voice was someone he'd met before…he just couldn't place it, not just yet.

Realizing his abrupt yell woke Dean, he mentally cursed himself.

"Is everything ok? You alright?" A typical, standard question…but Dean's concern was still mingled in there somewhere, or maybe Sam just hoped it was there.

"Yeah, sorry, just…I guess I was having a nightmare, or something," Sam stirred in his chair. "Uh, how are you feeling?" It had been a few hours and sleep, albeit restless, had caught up with Sam enough. He couldn't be bothered anymore by sleep, and he had to admit his body was becoming rather adjusted to functioning with just a few hours of sleep. He could do better, but not when he needed to be there for Dean.

"My head still really hurts, pretty much my entire body is aching, my mouth is kind of dry, and I'm really hungry," Dean answered groggily. The latter part of the statement made Sam smile. Dean could always eat. "You're Sam, right?"

"Yeah,"

"And I'm Dean,"

"That's you,"

"And we're brothers?"

"On our good days," Sam tried making a joke, but judging by the look on Dean's face it wasn't very humorous. Sam took the lighthearted grin off his face and cleared his throat. "I mean, yeah, we're brothers."

"Right. So, whose blood is that on your shirt?" Dean asked, having no idea it was his and Sam had no heart to tell him. Sam regretted not taking a few moments to change clothes when he first dropped Dean off at the E.R.

There was a knock at the door. Sam saw Dr. Chase standing outside the door and motioned him to come in, gladly accepting a diversion from the question.

"Good afternoon," he stepped inside and shut the door quietly. Sam glanced at his watch, nearly 2 p.m. "And how are you feeling, Dean?"

"Oh, fine I guess. Still can't remember anything," he tried to laugh but didn't allow himself. "How long do I have to stay here?"

"Well, that's what I came here to talk to you about, actually." Dr. Chase had walked over to Dean, and now flashed a light into his eyes, asking him to follow it. "I've been looking at your charts and you're recovering quite well so far, considering you fell three stories."

With the look on Dean's face, it seemed he fell again, hitting each proverbial floor like hitting reality for the first time.

"Does he still have to stay overnight?" Sam interjected, not really wanting a discussion on where they were when the accident occurred, which would probably lead into a 'why they were there' question.

"I don't want to release him just yet, but with the progression we've seen so far,"

"He's had a concussion before," Sam stood up now, and grabbed Dean's attention. "And I know all about them and what changes to watch for. If I can, I'd like to get him…" Sam struggled to find a word that didn't sound so much like _home_, which preached the mental image, an assurance, of a family there waiting. "I'd like to get him out…and get back to life, you know? You said yourself he's recovering well, and I'll take care of him, I promise."

The doctor finished taking Dean's pulse and put a skeptical eye on Sam, who stood on the opposite side of his brother.

Sam appeared to Dr. Chase as to be asking _permission_ to care for his brother. As if someone had told him he wasn't capable of taking care of his sibling. This young man had something to prove.

"Could I talk to you in the hall, for a moment?" The doctor asked. Sam nodded.

"I'll be right back," Sam told his brother, who at the moment stared at the space between Sam and Dr. Chase like he had no idea what was going on. And he didn't.

"Okay, I'll just wait here," Dean muttered, halfway pouting.

"You care a lot about your brother, I can see that. Right now, you know more about him than he does, and if you were him I'm sure you'd find that just a little bit alarming. Just be careful what you say around him. I've seen patients react differently to hearing things about a life they supposedly have been living,"

Sam understood and appreciated the doctor's warning and concern, but then again he supposed that was in his job description after all. What Dr. Chase told him made sense, but it worried Sam into acknowledgment just the same.

"We'll keep him here for at least a couple more hours, just so we can make further observations. I trust you'll bring him back to the hospital if anything changes, even subtly, hmm?"

"Absolutely, yeah," Sam would do whatever necessary to save his brother's life.

-:-

Sam gave Dean some more time to recuperate and went to clean up the bloodied Impala, as well as change clothes himself. He also brought a fresh change of clothing for his brother when he returned just a little while later. Upon receiving news of Dean's release, Sam was pleased.

While Dean stayed behind to change into his more typical attire, Sam went down to the hospital lobby to sign out. He never missed any of the hospitals he'd ever been to, but he definitely wouldn't miss this one. It was at this place where he'd come closest to losing his brother.

Sam signed the paper and turned to head outside and wait for Dean, but the desk clerk yelled for his attention.

Sam turned around, wondering what else he'd need to do or sign.

"Do you happen to know what happened to that other man?" She asked. Her voice was curt. Sam looked at her as if he was silently asking her to explain her question. The woman just sat there, waiting for a response.

"Um, what other man?" Sam finally gave in and asked.

"The one who came to see you and your...brother, was it? He gave the name, well hold on let me check again," She huffed, flipping through papers on a worn clipboard. "It was a...John...Jonathon Winters. He didn't sign out,"

Sam's heart sank somewhere untraceable. He didn't know a Jonathon Winters, but he knew their father...at least he _thought_ he did.

"Excuse me?"

"I know! Some nerve, not signing out. I told him it was the hospital policy."

"Yeah, sure, um...when did he come in?"

"It was sometime after 10 this morning. I didn't see him leave, is he still up there with your brother?"

"No, he...he's gone." Sam wasn't exactly lying. The desk clerk had said something to Sam, but Sam didn't listen, didn't care. He left for the exit sullenly. His thoughts only focused on that _other_ man...

He could only imagine what Dean would say if he knew their father came to see them. Their dad was okay, he was alive, but that wasn't enough for Sam. Dean could have died, and quite truthfully the Dean who Sam and their father knew was dead, at least momentarily; but even the death of son does not warrant enough interest to drop by and actually say hello to your own flesh and blood. Not for John Winters or any other John that Sam might happen to know.

There was harshness to the wind that shouldn't have been there, it was just a light breeze, but Sam felt it beat against him as he peered out into the full parking lot. Was their dad still there, watching somewhere far and away?

_Why didn't he say he was here, that he was coming? Why didn't he show himself? Does he know Dean's condition? Does he care?_

_How can a man who faces the most unimaginable monsters be such a coward...?_

Sam's thoughts fled away as the door opened and Dean walked out looking like Dean. No silly hospital gown, just his regular favored jeans, black shirt and leather jacket.

"Ready?" The young Winchester knew it was an odd question, but it was something that just came out in habit.

"Yeah...I think so," Dean answered with uncertainty. Sam began walking to the Impala and Dean followed, almost walking by it. Sam froze with shock.

"Where are you going?" he caught Dean's attention, whom had just been looking at the cloudy sky as he followed Sam.

"Oh, what? _This_ is our car?" His eyes seemed to light up with satisfaction.

"More _your_ car, but sometimes you let me drive," Sam said, feeling almost embarrassed for Dean that his most prized possession was deemed unrecognizable. Sam had half hoped that even if all memory of family was failing in Dean's mind, surely his baby would be remembered, if nothing else.

"Do I get to drive it now?" Dean sounded like a young boy, impatient to wait for his turn in doing something appealing and grand. Sam hid his grin. If only Dean could be aware of how ridiculous this sounded coming from him...

"Probably not until after you get over that concussion," In denying his brother right to drive his own vehicle, Sam was mentally ready for a punch coming straight to his face. Dean just sighed and put the palm of his hand to his forehead, as if remembering it hurt.

"Yeah, you're right...So, where are we going?"

_Where were we going?_

"Well...um, actually, we need to...get a motel," Sam spoke hesitantly. He waited for the next, appropriate question.

"Why a motel?"

"Because...we...I mean, our..."- _don't say home, don't say home_... -"Our place is being renovated. So we're gonna stay in a motel, just for a little while." Sam was trying to make himself feel better at the same time save Dean and himself a very awkward car ride.

Upon arriving at the nearest motel, spread vastly in the middle of nowhere, Sam instructed his older brother to wait in the car while he got them a room. He didn't want Dean to question the use of aliases and the illegal use of credit cards.

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There was something uncannily welcoming to step inside a motel room after staying in a hospital. The unfamiliarity of this specific motel room was still found strikingly similar to many of the Winchester's childhood environments.

Sam frowned when Dean took a seat on one of the beds and glowered, as if the room was some kind of prison, dark and cold and empty. Sam quickly opened the curtains to let some light in, hoping that would help. The later afternoon sun was out and light splashed in, though it was on its way to dusk.

He then took a seat on the bed adjacent from his brother's. And, much to his dismay, silence fell into the room and with each passing second it seemed the silence would be even harder to dig out of.

He wanted to say something, anything to his brother. He wanted to say something comforting, most of all, like Dean would be able to say for Sam if he needed comfort.

He wanted to tell Dean that their Dad was at the hospital.

He couldn't, though.

And then Dean looked up at Sam, after staring a hole into the musty-looking carpet, and there was a sad inquisitiveness to his expression that Sam had only seen one other time in his life: When he told Dean he was leaving to Stanford.

It reminded Sam of an orphan's expression, after being rejected by a family they thought could be theirs, but all that orphan would take with them was the knowledge they were going to be alone. All alone. And why was _he_ always the one left so alone?

"Sam…where is everyone?"

Sam jumped at the question. He wanted to ask, to prolong the answering, who he meant by everyone; but he knew who Dean meant. He didn't want to answer. He couldn't. How could he?

It shouldn't he his job to remind Dean of the family he didn't have. The mother he was denied. The father he was abandoned by. The brother who deserted him, but will never leave again…

"Sam? I wanted to ask before, but really I only now just started thinking about it. I mean, where are our parents?"

"I…" Sam began, and his throat tightened. "Well, what do you remember?"

_Idiot._ Sam thought. _He has amnesia, what's he going to tell you?_

But Sam was hoping the question might trigger some buried memory. Maybe, as Sam reasoned with himself, if he asked some questions, Dean might come up with the answers on his own. If Sam told him too much, he could force the memories to imprint themselves the way Sam tells it and maybe Dean would never truly remember.

"…Well, there's…" Dean seemed to be looking around him like his memories were orbs flying about, and he tried to focus on just one but it was always too quick. "Um…" Dean's breaths came closer together and his eyes watered.

He couldn't understand how the harder he tried to recall his past, he got absolutely nothing. It wasn't normal. He was fighting to be normal and losing the battle.

"It's okay," Sam blurted out, wanting to say anything to stop his older brother from having a panic attack.

"No, it isn't," Dean said, looking back at his brother with burning eyes. "It's not okay. I don't remember anything!"

"Dean, just…don't force it. Getting frustrated won't help."

"Right…because I'm sure if you didn't remember your mother, your father, and your own brother who is apparently sitting right across from you—you wouldn't feel a little bit frustrated."

Sam wished he could say he understood, but he didn't. He didn't want to tell his brother the truth, but he didn't want to lie.

"How is it only you who came to see me at the hospital? And why are we in some cheap motel? What about a…a friend's place, or…do I even have any friends?" Dean's eyes became large and he stood up, wincing from pain. He didn't know where he planned on going to in the small room.

Sam was biting his lip, trying not to lash out. He wasn't mad at Dean for asking questions he deserved to know the answers to, he was mad because he was alone in this. Where was his father to help him, to help Dean?

Sam closed his eyes for a moment. He wondered how it was that he went his whole life with Dean taking care of him, picking up after him, fixing his problems, just being a _brother_ to him…and he couldn't have picked up a few pointers. Sam wasn't used to being the caretaker. He wanted to be, desperately needed to be now, but there he sat, wishing he could runaway.

_Maybe I am like my Dad, more than I'd like to admit…_

"Look, I can tell you everything. I will…but, right now…" Sam looked upward, pleading with whatever Higher Power might have pity enough to listen to him for some kind of aid. "We're…_different_."

"Different." Dean repeated, looking down. "How so?"

"If you remembered, you'd know why it'd be so difficult to answer that question…" Sam couldn't help the pain in his voice.

"That's just it, Sam! I _don't _remember…I don't know why that's such a tough question. I thought that…with you being my brother, you'd understand…"

The words attacked Sam as Dean spoke, his voice filled with a kind of pain Sam had never heard before. Guilt had been stabbed into Sam's heart.

"I'm sorry," Sam said softly. The words were pale compared to the vivid ardor behind them.

"Yeah, me too,"

Silence again. Both brothers' hated the silence, but neither knew how to communicate at the moment.

And Sam tried terribly hard to ignore the reality of tears falling from his big brother's eyes. It wasn't that Dean couldn't cry, it was that he didn't cry. He didn't cry in front of Sam, at least. And the young Winchester was reduced to a helpless bystander as his superhero brother became unreachable.

"Dean…"

"I don't really feel like talking right now," Dean said coldly, returning to his bed and facing away from Sam. "Besides, I'm getting the feeling that maybe I don't want to know who I am. You seem more afraid to tell me than I'm afraid not to know."

It was the undeniable truth.

"This is really hard for me, too," Sam held out for some palpable form of comprehension, maybe even compassion from his brother, and he felt selfish for it.

"I get it," Dean lied, crawling into a restful position, as much as his aching body would allow. He sniffled, acting as though the tears were nothing. Sam felt tears of his own forming.

"I need to do something. It's something I think might help you…" Sam spoke, now standing and tugging at his jacket uneasily.

He needed to find their father.

"You're leaving?" Dean asked tiredly, and the previous resentment in his tone had diminished.

"I won't be long. And when I get back, I'll tell you everything. I just need to take care of something…"

"…Alright,"

Sam walked into the bathroom and Dean listened with eyes closed as the faucet turned on. When he heard the water stop running, he briefly opened his eyes to catch the familiar stranger as he walked out of the bathroom. When he got a glimpse of him, he shut his eyes, trying to pretend he didn't care what this brother of his was up to.

With his eyes forcefully shut, he suddenly felt something cool and refreshing on his skin. He blinked his eyes open to see Sam standing above him, having placed a wet washcloth on his forehead.

"For the pain," Sam said quietly, his eyes smiling while at the same time glistening with grief. Dean relaxed, closed his eyes.

"Thanks," it was barely a whisper.

"I'll be back soon, I promise," The little brother declared to the older that was fast on his way to sleep.

Sam grabbed his cell phone and the car keys and walked to the door. He prayed Dean would be safe and silently cursed any creature or monster who might dare disturb him as he slept. They'd have hell to pay when Sam got back. Sam, reluctantly, locked his brother inside the cold, dark motel room and then walked to the car. The Impala was cold and dark, too, without Dean there…Sam shivered as he started the engine.

He needed to find their Dad, and though he had no idea where he was going, he just needed to drive. He needed to think, to get a handle on this situation. And unless by some gracious miracle he did find their Dad, he'd have one disturbing confession for Dean when he came back. And Sam was no where near ready.

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Dean quivered from the sudden draft in the empty room. Still half asleep, he turned over and faced the door, the washcloth falling off. Blinking open his eyes just for a moment, he saw the motel entrance slightly ajar, a twilight breeze flowing in and brushing across his face.

"Sam?" he called into the darkness. The door then shut. No footsteps were heard, no shadows seen. Dean sat up in the bed and looked around. He reached for the light switch and stopped when he heard it. A breath, sliding down his neck like a droplet of water, traveled down his entire body with a tremor. He swallowed hard and held still.

"Poor soul…abandoned, alone…" A voice spoke tenderly, bringing both comfort and dread. "You don't have to be alone anymore,"

_Have I heard that voice somewhere before?_

"But…I'm not alone, Sam's here…" Dean tried to speak back, not sure if his voice kept up with his words.

"He isn't here with you now. Do you even know where he went?"

Dean would have shaken his head no, but didn't want to move.

"He said he'd be back,"

"Do you believe that?" The voice hissed.

"I don't have much of a choice,"

"Oh, but _don't_ you? We all have a choice…Sam chose to abandon you, just like your father, just like your mother."

"You know my parents?" Dean wanted to turn around now, but found himself immobile. He was scared, but there was something telling about the voice, this invisible man hid in shadows. He had answers, he knew things Dean could learn from him…but he couldn't shake the fear, or the interest.

"Only that they've abandoned you, like everyone has and everyone will. Your soul is cursed to be alone, Dean. However, I can save you from that curse…"

"But…Sam…he's"—

"Your brother?" Dean's thought was finished for him, striking him off guard and rendering him speechless. "You don't remember how he treated you, what he thinks of you. I could help you remember, if you want…"

And before Dean had a chance to respond, an image flashed into his mind like a bolt of lightening overtaking a sky crowded with storm clouds.

_Sam stood there, pointing the gun at me, his finger edging the trigger. Why did he look so angry, so hateful? _

_His lips moved but I heard nothing. I was frozen, felt nothing. _

_And then he pulled the trigger. I heard the click of the empty bullet chamber, and then I felt it. The pain. The pain was searing through my chest. There was no blood, no bullet…just pain. _

_Please. Make the pain go away…_

Dean opened his eyes.

He couldn't believe what he had just seen, and there was a new pain throbbing in his chest. He took in a deep breath, soaked with confusion and a wish to know he was having a nightmare and wasn't awake.

He saw the door was again open, just slightly, wavering in the wind. Dean drew the covers up to his chest, unable to identify a shred of evidence that he was safe.

He looked around the dark room, hoping Sam would be there, and then it hit him.

Sam wasn't there. He hadn't come back yet.

_Will he ever come back?_

And a new thought broke out from the corner of his mind.

Did Sam really care about him? Was that a nightmare he just saw, his brother trying to kill him? Or had it been something much worse…had it been a memory?

Dean felt the urge to pull the covers over his head and hide away. He was a child again, tormented by the monsters lurking around him, and the worst part of it was that he was alone. No one was there to protect him. No one was there to tell him it was okay.

It was just Dean, trapped alone in the dark with nothing but fear for company.

If only he knew his brother was on his way.

And now, Dean couldn't help but realize the idea of his brother coming back was what was scaring him most.

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_To Be Continued…_

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_Feedback would be wonderful, and as always, thanks for reading. _

Silver Kitten


	4. Tragic Fairytale

**The Beckoning**

Chapter Four: Tragic Fairytale

Author's Note: Aw, I'm just ecstatic at how people are enjoying the story, and bearing with me here. Thank you so much for the support, it really helps in continuing a story when you know people are reading it. Oh, and double thanks for those who wished my kitty well. I'm elated to tell you she's doing wonderful, and after having only a 30 percent chance of survival…that's pretty darn good. Thanks for your thoughts and prayers. Back to the story now, this will be very Sam/Dean centric and I'm just gonna say that the next chapter (coming soon) will be pretty lengthy because more of the subplot will come into focus. Also, I just changed my plans for this story a tiny bit, but whenever I do that I get a renewed motivation to write. Anyways, that's just boring. Let's continue with the story…

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The Impala's engine droned along the empty highway. Sam had been going for nearly two hours though he had no destination. He circled all the different motels in the area, passed by the bars and supermarkets at least three times; waiting for some vibe to tell him John Winchester was there. With no such luck, Sam drove on skeptically, his only vibe being that if their Dad was there he'd already left.

_Coward…_

Sam was partially thankful to be on the search for the elusive John Winchester yet again, only because it took his mind off of Dean and his condition. What was going to happen with them now that he had no memory? Sam hated leaving his brother alone, especially with his current state of mind, but it was almost unbearable for him to be in the same room as Dean. He wasn't, and will never be, used to seeing his older brother so…broken.

Dean was the one who always fixed Sam. And with Dean now broken and Sam slowly breaking, he wondered who was going to fix them.

The young Winchester tried hard to ignore some of the thoughts that found their way to the surface of his mind. They were the "What If" and "If Only" thoughts he rarely had time to consider, since they were the most improbable of concepts.

_What if our life was different? What if we could be a normal family? What if we were raised to believe nothing in the dark could hurt us?_

_If only things could be different. If only we could be normal. If only…nothing in the dark could hurt us. _

Still, there was one appealing thought that Sam was both grateful and fearful to own: What if Dean never remembered their lives as hunters?

For a moment the young Winchester sat back in the car seat, still tense and unable to relax, still on the lookout for whatever he hoped to see, but he let his thoughts surpass him.

If Dean didn't remember losing his mother over his baby brother's bed, her stomach gashed open, their home and family burning away in seconds…

If Dean didn't remember the silent promise their father made to avenge their mother's murder, his crusade against Evil he'd lead his children on…

If Dean didn't remember what it was like _not_ to be normal, if he knew no difference from other kids, other families…if he wasn't raised to become a warrior with a burden for a destiny their father forged in the fires of their mother's death…

If Dean had an opportunity to be normal, to be happy, to love…all things which Sam wanted desperately, what Dean wanted Sam to have…

All things which had been stolen from the Winchester bloodline, all things which were condemned…

If only Dean could be granted that chance of a life outside Hell…

Sam shook himself out of his mind, the frame of it nearly suffocating him with grief and joy and unfair indecision…

He could make something up, something grand, and Dean could believe Sam's lie with the same whimsical enchantment that fairytales hold. Therein was the problem. Could Sam really lie to his brother?

The Winchester's were not meant for the fairytale kind of life. They were meant for the epic tragedies of the world, because they had the strength and spirit to endure it. They'd be surprised for a happily-ever-after style ending. They'd be satisfied to know it even _could_ end. Alas, evil would always exist. This was their fate, and that was fact, not fiction. They were cursed and as Dean taught Sam well, you can't stop a curse, just run from it.

And a lot of good running has done for this family…

_Dean could start over, have the life he should be living…but then I risk losing the brother I've always had…_

_I can't be so selfish, not anymore…_

_If I just let him go…spin a magical fairytale…he can have normal. He deserves normal._

_But can he **survive** normal? Would he be safe…?_

"Why did you leave us, Dad?" Sam spoke outwardly in the silence of the car. "I need you to tell me what to do." For once he sought his father's direct order over his life instead of cringing from it. He wanted someone to tell him what the best choice was, what the right thing to do was.

And then Sam remembered it was never his father he resorted to for "Let your conscience be your guide" speeches. It was never John Winchester who Sam encouraged to get answers or advice from…it had been Dean. _It would always be Dean._

Sam sunk down in the seat. The weight of his thoughts was pushing him closer to the asphalt below the ever-on-the-move Impala.

Normality was worth a lot to the twenty-two year old in the brief time he had it. In fact, on some days he'd argue nothing else was worth more. But this was different now, this was Dean. Although Sam wished Dean could own a memory of happy normalcy, he knew it'd mean perhaps losing his brother forever. And nothing to Sam was worth more to him than his brother. And as far as Sam was concerned, Dean was the closest thing to normal as he ever had that was real, that was more than an illusion or a figment of a memory.

His thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. He fumbled, struggling to control the steering wheel with one hand, while trying to grasp the phone in the passenger seat. Taking proper control back of the car, he answered, hoping it was Dean to say he suddenly remembered everything, and the misery could be over…

"Hello?"

There was a silence, an all-too familiar silence, and Sam was ready to snap the cell phone shut and throw it out the window. But then the silence broke, and a voice emerged, and Sam almost wished for the silence to remain.

"Sam—sorry—get to—help—he needs you—hurry."

"Dad? Is that you?" Sam tried his hardest to listen through the static, but he was certain it was his father calling him, albeit distorted and broken up.

"Hurry Sam—he needs you—get to Dean!" Then the static ceased and Sam was met with the dial-tone and an eerie feeling that Dean was in trouble.

Sam tossed the phone into the seat again and thankful to an empty road he hardly slowed his speed as he spun around, tires screeching. He didn't care if it was their father calling him or not. He didn't care if what he was told was true. What he cared about was Dean, and if there was the slightest chance he needed help…Sam would be there. He only hoped it wasn't too late.

-:-

There was a single streetlamp outside the parking lot of the motel they were in and it seemed to flicker when Sam tore into the parking space outside the room. It took him half the time it'd take someone to usually notice something peculiar, and when he saw the room door open with nothing but darkness inside, he had attempted to jump out of the car with his seatbelt still on. He jostled with the so-called "life saving device", having to calm himself for a second in order to unbuckle. It wouldn't save anyone's life if Sam didn't get inside that room and see that Dean was alright.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, bursting into the quiet room.

It was too quiet.

He heard a shuffling of sheets and squinted in the darkness to see a form sitting upright in Dean's bed.

"Dean? Are you okay?" Sam ran for the light and turned it on. Dean was alone looking as scared as he'd ever looked, and that was the most frightening thing to Sam. Dean's fear was Sam's weakness, just as Sam's weakness was Dean's fear. They were each other's strength and comfort, each brother a security blanket to the other, and they knew that-even if they'd never admit it.

"I don't know…I…I just don't know," Dean's voice was frail and he shielded himself from the lamplight, partially because his eyes weren't yet adjusted from the darkness, and also because he didn't want to look at Sam.

"What happened? Did something happen?" Sam knew something had to have happened, he just didn't know what. He extended his hand towards his brother's shoulder. Dean quickly shrunk back, slamming himself backward into the headboard of the bed.

"Please, just…stay away," Dean was on the verge of tears again. Sam supposed that Dean, without remembering the years of conditioning from their father that crying was bad, wasn't able to put a proper wall up for himself, block out the emotion and fear. And Sam was both heartbroken and relieved. Maybe he'd be able to talk to his brother about what he was feeling, about what was going on inside that curious head of his.

"Dean, you have to talk to me, please. Just tell me what happened." Sam looked around the room for signs of intrusion, human or otherworldly. The temperature was comfortable, lights were steady, and Sam was baffled. He remembered the door being open. "Was someone in here?"

The look on Dean's face expressed to Sam, who had grown up learning his brother's expressions, that something seriously spooked him. And Dean, looking at and away at his slightly intimidating younger brother, couldn't reason within himself about what happened. Had someone paid a visit to him? What was that voice?

Dean thought he might be going crazy. There had been no one in that room since Sam left, coming or going. Dean didn't want to let on that he thought he heard things. It just was not possible.

And then Dean's thoughts returned to where they planted themselves just before Sam burst in the room.

_Sam tried to kill me._

He looked up at Sam with wild, disbelieving eyes and swallowed something that felt like a brick to him.

"Did you…" Dean stopped himself. Did he really want to know? "That gun…it was empty, but…you shot me. You shot me?" He sounded like he was stating it matter-of-factly, yet at the same time questioning the logic, the possibility behind it. Sam nearly fell backwards onto the other bed, taking in a deep breath, sadly knowing exactly what he was referring to.

"You…remember?"

"So it _was_ true…But, why? What did I do to make you want to kill me?"

Sam now took his seat on the bed, the only recourse available to his failing ability to remain standing.

Sam could hardly look at his older brother falling part just inches away from him, and Sam was helpless to hold him together. He could barely hold himself together.

"Try and calm down a moment,"—

"Calm down? Are you serious? How do I know you aren't just gonna kill me?" Dean demanded, nearly falling off his bed. Sam lowered his gaze to the floor.

"If I wanted to kill you, why haven't I done it yet?" His voice remained calm, though shaky, and had a soothing tone to it that Dean seemed to embrace.

"Okay…so…what then?"

"Um…well, first off…it wasn't really me. I mean, it was me, physically, but not mentally. Well, okay, mentally I was there but…just, I wasn't in control, and," Sam quit in his explanation, taking a moment to observe his brother who had his head tilted and eyes narrowed with a '_What the Hell_?' expression. "Alright, let me start over,"

"Uh…'kay," Dean sighed, completely confused while wanting to listen to Sam and at the same time run away.

"We…we're hunters. We, um…hunt _things_,"

"Hunt things, what, like deer?"

_If Bambi was possessed, then yeah…_Sam inwardly smiled as he channeled his older brother.

"Not exactly _living_ things, per se...There are things in this world that can't be explained. They're bad, evil things…that hurt people and sometimes kill. We hunt them, kill them, hopefully before anyone gets hurt." Sam tried his best to explain, fully aware at how bizarre this must sound to his brother. Dean was obviously perplexed.

"Wait, so you mean like ghosts?"

Sam nodded slowly.

"Yeah," was the only word he seemed able to say. "Ghosts, monsters, demons…the undead."

"So…why'd you try to kill me?" Dean asked again, ignoring the nonsense he was hearing. Sam shrunk in the presence of the question.

"Well, a ghost kind of…tampered with my mind. He took control and…_I_ didn't try to kill you. He was making me do it,"

"A ghost tried to kill me. That's just great!" Dean gave a small laugh, rolling his eyes.

"Dean,"

"No, you know what?" Dean stood up, throwing the covers to the floor. "I've had it. I can't take this, Sam…you're telling me monsters exist? Things that hide in closets and under beds are _real_? Not only that, but we hunt the things?"

"I know it's hard to understand..."

"It's not hard, it's impossible. What kind of crap is that? I ask you for the truth and you tell me this B.S.? Is my life _that_ bad that you'd make something like this up?"

"I'm not making it up! It's true..." And Sam suddenly found himself talking to the likes of a typical victim: hysterical, skeptical, and very much in danger from the evils around them. Yet he had no way to prove it. "This is why I didn't want to tell you...you don't think I know it sounds insane?"

"Insane is putting it lightly. To tell the truth, I thought _I_ was the one going insane, hearing voices…" Dean trailed off, pacing by his bedside. Sam perked his head up.

"Voices? What voices?"

"What? Nothing, never mind…"

"Tell me, please…" Sam stood up as well. "What have you heard, exactly?" He was slightly shocked at his switch to hunter mode, oppose to little brother, although the latter would always be there first and foremost.

Dean didn't want to answer. Sam's watchful eyes were intent on making him speak, and he tried not to look at him thinking he could avoid talking. He couldn't stop himself from looking at Sam, though, and he felt doomed to answer the pleading boy's question.

"Alright, Ghost Boy," Dean began, and Sam's heart skipped a beat at his nicknaming remark. "Before you got here…I woke up and I heard this…voice…this guy, talking…I don't know. But there was no one here, I mean, that's impossible,"

"What did he say?"

Dean shot him a sharp look. Why should he tell him? Was it any of his business? But maybe he could help…

"He said I…was cursed to be alone. He mentioned my parents abandoning me…and…you. And then suddenly I just…had this memory of you pointing a gun at me. And then the guy, whoever he was, vanished."

"So he was here…but you didn't see him?"

"Er…well, not really. I thought I felt him behind me…I felt breathing down my neck and…I don't know, I didn't see anything."

Sam walked to the window, pulled back the curtain uncertain of what he expected to see, and walked back to the bed. He couldn't grasp his thoughts well enough to articulate them.

_Dean is hearing voices, too_…Sam thought, remembering the voice in the old manor, the voice in his nightmare…that familiar voice…

And then he realized what must be happening.

They were being haunted by some creature.

"It's crazy, I know, but I've been hearing a voice," Sam started to say, urging his brother's belief. "Ever since…right before you fell,"

Sam caught Dean's attention.

"Before…I lost my memories? Do you think it's the same voice?"

"Honestly, I don't know…but I intend to find out," Sam told him, practically hoping over to his duffle bag on the floor and began digging through it.

"How? I mean, what…This is nuts. There has to be some rational explanation…right?" Dean was wishing more than asking. Sam paused in his search and looked back up at Dean.

"I'm afraid rationality has little to do with what's out there." Sam said quietly and Dean looked hurt by the words. "You can tell me you don't believe me, I wouldn't blame you. In fact, I'd expect to hear it. But…you have to believe me."

"Why should I?" Dean questioned, hardly emoting his feelings behind the words.

Sam took a moment to respond. He looked fiercely into Dean's eyes, searching for his answer until he saw it, reflecting back at him in glimmering truth.

"Because…you're my brother, and I need you to believe me."

For a brief moment, there was a sense of understanding and clarity between the two. Although it was momentary, they each held onto it, unwilling to let go.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You look like you need a hug, or something," Dean said thoughtfully, and Sam didn't fight a smile.

"Let's save the hug until after I save you," Sam said, a frown becoming apparent on his face as he recalled the fact that something was after them. What worried him most was that it was after Dean. Sam knew, once he'd figure out what was going on, that he'd be able to protect himself. Dean would have no idea what he'd be dealing with. Dean was in danger, and Sam wasn't going to sit around and worry. He needed to figure this out, stop it, and protect Dean at all costs.

"Okay…" Dean gave a half-smile. "Hey, um…where did you go, earlier?"

"I…thought I could maybe find our Dad," Sam stated with a new sadness in his voice.

"Where is he?"

"I don't know. He's been missing for a while now. We've been searching for him for months, and that's why we stay in motels and such…"

"Missing? Do you think he's in trouble?"

"You know about as much as I do, however…I think he called me before. That's weird enough in itself…" Sam spoke while going further into his own thoughts.

"What about our Mom? Where is she?" Dean asked. He was wretchedly unaware of the melancholy behind the answer that Sam wasn't ready to give.

"Um…she's…" Sam explored possible explanations in his head, but everything he thought he could say sounded unjustified and tacky. _Some **thing** ripped her open, stuck her on the ceiling, and then she burned away in rapid fire…_

"You don't have to tell me," Dean said quickly, pulling Sam from his superfluous thoughts. Dean rubbed his temples, looking beaten.

"What?"

"I get the feeling whatever happened…well, I can just tell it's not easy for you to say. And if that's the case, then I probably don't want to know just yet…I've kind of had my fair share of shocking revelations for the night," Dean explained with a dismal grin. Sam returned it, equally dismal, but appreciated being allowed the ease of mind, if not the ease of heart.

"Sure, I understand,"

"Well, I'm gonna use the bathroom," he said with a sigh, walking towards it. Sam nodded, continuing to rummage through the duffle bag till he found it: their Dad's journal.

He wasn't sure what he'd be looking for. The only clues to this "monster" had been an eerie voice. There wasn't much in the Monster Handbook on voices alone. Voices, naturally, had to have a connection.

_Telepathy…_

The idea crawled into Sam's mind suddenly. What creatures had telepathic abilities? There were humans, for one thing…some animals…maybe vampires…

Sam's thoughts broke at the sound of a petrified yell coming from the bathroom.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, maneuvering past the beds and desk down the hall. His steps were quick and the distance was short, but Sam felt like he'd never get there in time. His heart raced as he pushed himself into the bathroom entryway, grabbing the doorframe for support from falling over. He tried to catch his breath so he'd be able to ask if Dean was okay, but what short breaths he had left were stolen from him as he saw what Dean was staring at with hushed fright.

Along the mirror, intricately illuminated by the dim bathroom light, were words spelled out in fresh, dripping blood.

The garnet-red letters spelled a phrase too close to a memory of Sam's.

'_**I told you I'd come back…'**_

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_To Be Continued…_

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_Thanks much for your time in reading this! I hope you liked it. Feedback is fantastic (and other like adjectives). Till next time, take care…_

_Silver Kitten_


	5. Exposure

**The Beckoning**

Chapter Five: Exposure

Author's Note: Ah, I'm sorry I haven't updated very quickly, I'm hoping the length of this chapter kind of makes up for it. You should know the reviews are very motivating and encouraging for me to update this story, and just knowing people are reading my story (you know who you are) is fantastic…This is honestly the fastest I've ever kept up on updating a story like this, and I think it's cuz of all of you (curse my bout of writer's block I had for two days!). Anyways, thank you SO much, and I plan on thanking you personally if I can…I just keep getting stuck at work, and ya know how life likes to get in the way sometimes. Okay, well this is one of my favorite chapters so far, and it's also one of the saddest. There's particular angst near the end. On with the story…

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Dean stood, now facing his brother, his lips forming the beginnings of questions though he couldn't quite find his voice.

Sam wasn't sure what to say. He kept his eyes focused on the words.

'_I told you I'd come back_…'

It sent a shiver down his back, and then he turned to look at Dean and met his fearful gaze.

"Are you alright?" Sam asked out of habit and concern. He knew Dean was shaken up, but he still needed to hear his older brother tell him he was okay.

"I think…" he answered with bewilderment, as if he had to ask himself if he was okay before answering. "How could this happen? Who'd do this?"

"I think I might actually be able to answer that," Sam said, going back to the bedroom. Dean was quick to follow the taller Winchester.

"What's that?" Dean asked, staring at the worn and tattered brown journal in Sam's hands.

"It's Dad's journal. He sort of…left it for us like a guide. Everything he knows about evil beings is in here," Sam explained while flipping through the pages. Dean eyed the journal with attentive suspicion.

"He must really love us," he said, mostly because he wanted to hear what it sounded like outside his head. He'd hoped it would bring a memory. Sam looked up from the journal with forlorn eyes. "I mean, for him to leave us all this information…he must want us to stay safe. He must care a lot," Dean continued anxiously waiting for Sam to agree.

Sam looked back down at the abandoned book, his eyes grazing over some of the illegible ramblings their father scribbled down. To Sam, this journal existed for his father's selfish reasons. He didn't write in it throughout the years so he could one day pass it on like a precious family heirloom. He wrote in it to help sort through his scattered mind, to piece together the evil in the world like a puzzle, hoping someday he'd find that missing piece…hoping he'd find Mary's killer. It was the mark of his greatest obsession and most lethal of passions, not to mention a photo album of the boy's lacking childhood.

Yet, the young man held onto the journal and met his older brother's eyes once more. He wasn't going to trouble Dean with the cold reality he'd been forced to comply with. And sure, maybe John _did_ care…once. Sam wasn't sure anymore. But if Dean wanted it so, then so it was…

"Yeah," Sam forced a whole smile. "He loves us." Sam wanted to believe that he was telling his brother the truth, but really that was all up to John.

The smile Dean gave Sam after hearing those words was priceless, and Sam almost immediately wanted to take back what he'd said. What if their Dad didn't love them? What if he never came back for them and Dean never got his memories back? He'd be hanging on a hope that would never receive validation, and if there was an equal and opposite expression to the one Dean was beaming now—Sam would die if he had to witness it. Nevertheless, Sam knew there were more pressing matters that required his attention. Something was after Dean, and maybe even himself…

"So," Sam started, wanting to continue into a deep confession with his older brother but knowing he needed the both of them to focus. If there was one thing Sam had learned from Dean, it is that there was a time and place for everything and how ironic, Sam thought, that it was never the right time and they were never in the right place. Right now, however, the writing on the mirror demanded a dire concentration. "You won't remember this, but about six years ago we were on a hunt,"

"One of those ghost hunts?" Dean asked, slightly curious.

"Something like that, only it wasn't exactly a _ghost_ we were hunting,"

"Wait," Dean interjected, raising a hand in a stop motion. "Should I sit down for this?"

Sam gave a small chuckle. "Maybe, just in case," and with that Dean took a seat on the bed, with Sam sitting next to him holding the journal so they could both see it. It was an article about an old manor, much like the one the boys were previously investigating the other day. People around the town were vanishing and soon enough their bodies were found in the manor, drained of blood. Sam watched as Dean scanned the article. It wasn't exactly a children's bedtime story, but Dean's eyes lit up with interest as if he were a kid embarking on an adventure.

_Something in him knows this is his fate…_

Sam pulled away from the dejected thought.

"We were hunting a vampire?" Dean asked now, looking over to Sam. "Did we kill him?"

Sam looked up at the ceiling, his memories washing over him in a wave of coldness, and he shivered as he was taken back six years…

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"Remember, you either decapitate the head," a twenty-year-old Dean spoke firmly to his younger brother, who rolled his eyes at the redundant speech he'd heard at least eight times for the duration of the car ride. "Or shove the stake as hard as you can, right in their heart," he finished, poking his brother a tad sharply in the chest.

"Ow, what was that for?" the younger Winchester asked, rubbing the sore spot over his sternum.

"That was for the eye-roll." Dean grinned, straightening his jacket and continuing to walk down the dark hallway. "And what do you mean, 'Ow'? I didn't even poke you that hard, Sammy,"

"Says you!" Sam shot back, taking a moment to try and poke his brother as hard as he'd felt it done to him.

"Ow!" Dean mocked, pretending to cry.

"Shut up, you're such a jerk," Sam sighed, trying not to laugh at the foolish behavior of his self-proclaimed smarter brother.

"Such words, little hunter, such words," Dean said while giving a teasing laugh and putting a hand over his heart. He drew his free arm around his brother and pulled him into a side-hug. Sam didn't resist but didn't give in; his thoughts were somewhere else. "But seriously, Sammy, do you think you're ready for this?"

At those words, Sam looked up and met his brother's eyes. "I'm not a baby, Dean. I can handle this. And if _you've_ killed a vampire, then _I_ can kill a vampire," Sam didn't mask the laughter in his voice, though he wished he had once he felt his brother's arm extend to his neck, pulling him into a headlock.

"Very funny!" Dean said as his brother flailed to break free of his grip.

"Come on, Dean," Sam's voice was muffled by Dean's jacket. "I was kidding!"

"Knock it off, right now!" A voice boomed from a near distance, and both the Winchester boys composed themselves immediately, forced to meet the displeased look on their father's face.

"Sorry, sir," they said in unison, Dean just a millisecond ahead of Sam.

"We're in the middle of a hunt. This isn't playtime," their father's voice expressed extreme disappointment for each of the boys, however Dean knew it was held for him alone. "Dean, you take Sam and go upstairs. I'm going to the basement. Can I trust you to behave and not get you or your brother killed?"

The words were sharp and pricked at Dean's heart.

"Dad," he wanted to make clear he'd never compromise Sammy's life. His father of all people should understand that. How could he think otherwise, after all these years?

"Can I trust you?" John's voice demanded a single response and nothing else. Dean caved.

"Yes,"

"Be careful," John commanded, before taking off further into the darkness. The boys watched in silence as he disappeared from sight.

"Dean, I'm sor—"

"Forget about it," Dean cut him off before he could apologize. He didn't need to apologize. "Let's go kick some vampire ass," he attempted to revive a jovial competitive notion to their task. Sam sighed but nodded with half a smile.

The two entered the top floor, their flashlights battling through the murky shadows. It was eerily quiet in the house and so their footsteps creaking on the floorboards were awkwardly loud. The brothers cringed with each step. Although it was dawn and the sun had just risen, it felt like night inside the walls. The vampire they were hunting made strong attempts to block out sunlight.

"So, what if he's not in his coffin?" Sam asked in a hushed voice, somehow feeling a negative presence creeping up on them.

Dean raised an eyebrow.

"The sun's out, where else would he be?"

"I don't know, but what if he's not sleeping?"

Dean put the light of his flashlight on his brother's face.

"You're not scared, are you Sammy?" Dean asked, mostly in a joking overtone but the question was serious just the same. Sam pushed the flashlight out of his direction.

"No, it's just…" Sam paused. _It's just something doesn't feel right_, he thought, but he was unable to speak the words aloud. "I'm trying to be precautious."

"Precautious? How old _are _you, Sammy? Like thirty?" Dean furrowed his eyebrows.

"Sorry, I forgot words more than two syllables catch you off guard," Sam defended himself with a grin. He loved the chances, often against the odds, that he got to one-up his brother. He relished in his small victory for a moment and then waited for his brother to continue their banter, but within an instant he was struck with loss. Dean's eyes widened before him, and Sam didn't have time enough to turn around and see what Dean saw, as he found the floor of an empty room instead.

Momentarily disoriented from his brother's push, he quickly collected himself and turned around to see Dean pinned against a wall by a tall, dark figure.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, struggling to find proper footing as he stood up. He ran to his brother, who had been fighting uselessly against the vampire's strength to break free, when he was met with another powerful force. It took less than a second for the vampire to throw Dean across the hall and switch his attention to Sam.

Sam pulled away from the vampire as best he could yet to no avail. His arms were crushing into his sides, the back of his head now throbbing from the impact with the wall behind him. Dean's advice threw itself at him. _Don't look in their eyes_.

Sam shut his eyes at once, only wanting to open them to catch a glimpse of his brother to make sure he was okay. He did not and chose to obey his brother's words.

"You'll do fine," the vampire's bottomless voice spoke, his breath cold on Sam's face. "After I take your brother," he laughed, tossing Sam to the ground, almost knocking him unconscious. Sam fought to hold onto his awareness, to stay awake, to help Dean.

He heard Dean's struggled breath and a sort of whispering floating amid the darkness like a wind. Sam pulled himself up from the floor again, becoming rather tired of having to do such a task so often lately. He drew out the wooden stake he'd tucked inside a backpack pocket which he was still surprised to have on.

"Leave him alone!" Sam ordered. The vampire had Dean's neck at an angle as he turned to face Sam.

His fangs suddenly protracted as he smiled harshly. "What are you going to do, kill me?" he asked without any real intentions of receiving an answer. "My boy, I'm already dead." He then lifted a long arm, showing off the sharp nails on his slender, white hands, proceeding to stab the claw-like structures into Dean's shoulder. Dean let out an exhausted cry and Sam winced. When the vampire removed himself from Dean, who could barely hold himself up against the wall, he slowly maneuvered to Sam.

Sam kept his eyes on the vampire as best he could without making eye contact. He'd been taken aback by how human he appeared, save for the fangs.

Not knowing how, exactly, he would manage this kill, Sam waited for the right moment to launch his attack. He didn't have much time to plan it out as it seemed to come on its own.

"Get away from my brother, you bastard!" Dean yelled in a pained voice. He then impaled the vampire's back with his stake, trying to distract him. The vampire hissed, threw his head back, and Sam used the opportunity to drive his stake right into the chest of the vile creature. He had hoped he hit the heart.

When the vampire stumbled back, Sam helped Dean get out of his way, supporting his brother while he clasped his wounded shoulder.

The very human monster, in appearances only, slunk to the floor as he grasped the stake in his heart. Sam held no fear in looking in the dying vampire's eyes, at least until he actually caught the creature's gaze. Something put Sam's heart at a standstill, as if the vampire had an invisible first around it. Although the numbing pain lasted only a moment, quickly fading as the vampire was losing its strength, he couldn't disregard an unsettling voice he suddenly heard in his head. A threatening thought spoke to him.

"_I'll come back for you…for both of you. Your blood is mine..._"

With that, Sam shrunk closer towards his brother and watched as the vampire fell silent, fell to the floor, and fell back into the shadows.

Forcing his thoughts away from the vampire's final threat, he turned to Dean.

"I think you need a hospital, those wounds look deep," Sam said sympathetically. Dean grimaced at the word 'hospital'.

"I'll be fine," he said flatly.

"…Let's go find Dad," Sam ignored his brother's fake answer, hoping their father would have a stronger say in the matter.

When they reached the entrance to the old house, their Dad had just been on his way up to meet them. As soon as John saw Dean was injured, he became annoyingly, but understandably, too curious for Sam's liking.

After John interrogated the boy's on what precisely happened, and he heard the story, Sam appreciated the fact he agreed Dean needed a hospital visit, just to be safe.

"But Dad," Dean whined, attempting to stand up straight with his injured shoulder and failing.

"No 'but Dad's'. Let's get going,"

Their father's word was always the final, and the three hunters took their leave of the old manor. Sam kept his eyes on it as they drove away, incapable of turning from this, yet another, brush with Death. He believed the vampire was dead, he _felt_ him die, or he thought he did. Yet, there was something different in the air about it, something indefinite. And Sam couldn't help but wonder…was it really the end of their foe?

Or was it just that odd, unexplainable feeling that lingered…that Sam had been _determined_ to believe was _just a feeling_.

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As Sam finished recounting the story, Dean was left feeling frighteningly astonished.

"So, this vampire…he spoke to you like…telepathically?"

"I believe so. I didn't know much of what to think about it, I mean, I thought he was dying…just trying to scare me. I should have listened to my gut instinct…I must have missed his heart, but I swore…" Sam let out a heavy, burdened sigh. _This is my fault._

"Do you think you're responsible for everything bad that happens?" Dean asked. The question struck Sam as funny, though he didn't let it show in his expression.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, ever since I met you," Dean stopped for a moment, thinking over his words. "I mean, since I woke up…it just seems like you believe this, everything, is your fault. I guess it might be, I can't say because I can't remember. But I have this feeling that it's not…like, maybe you feel guilty for stuff you shouldn't, stuff you can't control. I feel like I know,"—Dean took in a rapid inhale, like something collided in his thoughts, something connected. "Like I know you're _innocent_."

Dean said the word like he read it in his mind, as if he turned a page in his memory's scrapbook. The picture was blurred but still it was there. He tried to focus on it, but the harder he tried the less he saw.

Sam blinked curiously trying to grasp what Dean just told him. He cleared his throat to speak, but held his words in a moment longer as he let the faint possibility sink in that maybe- Dean was beginning to remember. It was just like Dean to remind Sam it wasn't his fault. No matter what the issue, Sam found a way to twist it so he was responsible and the same way he managed to do so, Dean dug up a way to prove him otherwise.

"I wouldn't go as far as to say I'm innocent," Sam smiled weakly and looked away from his brother, who seemed to be blushing. Dean shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't know why I said that, I just…" Dean put his hands to his head and exhaled painfully. Sam looked at Dean again, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"What is it? Are you okay?"

"I suddenly felt really dizzy, that's all," Dean answered, shaking his head. Sam felt nausea creep into his stomach as he remembered the concussion. Immediately, Sam lunged for his duffle bag nearby and pulled out a small flashlight. He slightly tilted Dean's head.

"Here, look up," he asked, shining the light in Dean's squinting eyes. Sam let out a sigh of relief. "Your pupils seem to be normal,"

"Thanks, Doc," Dean said, trying to keep his eyes open. "So can you stop blinding me now?"

"Oh, sorry," Sam clicked the flashlight off and Dean looked around the room to escape the filtered spots he saw. The next thing he knew, Sam stuck a thermometer in his mouth, nearly causing Dean to choke as he didn't expect it. He tried to mumble something but it was inaudible with the thermometer. Sam motioned him to wait to speak till he pulled it out and read its results.

"98.7…"

"Sam, I feel fine, really,"

"I'm only making sure,"

Dean watched Sam as he continued to check his head, gently moving it from side to side, trying not to touch the bruises. He felt anxious for his brother now who seemed to be worrying way too much, and a foreign but genuine idea came to him. He wanted to settle Sam down.

"I think I'd just like to take a nap. Didn't sleep very well, before," Dean lied, not being very tired at all. He thought if Sam believed he was resting then maybe Sam could rest, also.

"Sure,' Sam nodded, a little hesitant to exclude himself from his brother's company again, if only in the waking world.

"About this vampire," Dean started, not knowing where he'd finish.

"Don't worry about him. I'm going to stay up and keep watch, but for some reason I think he'll leave us be. He hasn't done anything yet. In the morning we'll go back to the manor, do some more investigating…I'll have to teach you a few things first, of course," Sam smiled at the thought of being the teacher for once.

"Sounds like a plan," Dean yawned, coming to a realization that sleep wasn't that bad of an idea. He almost wondered if he ever got much sleep for as much as his body seemed to be accepting of it.

Sam sat on his bed, reclining against his headboard. He watched, waited patiently, as Dean fell asleep. When he was sure Dean was in a safe, peaceful slumber, he looked around the room with predator's eyes. It was quiet, and no vibe of trouble concerned his mind. He tried to relax his tensed shoulders and turned his attention to his laptop that rested on one of his pillows over his lap.

He signed into his account, began a new email, and searched his address book till he saw it. It took longer than it should have for him to check the box next to the email he wanted…it was John's. He sat perplexed, not knowing what to type in an email to his Dad. This was usually Dean's forte.

The keyboard seemed ridiculously uncooperative as he put his fingers on the keys, or maybe it was just him who didn't want to press any. He had to, though, and without letting his thoughts intervene, he slowly began typing.

_Dad,_

_Dean was in an accident. He's doing better but he has amnesia, can't remember a thing about us or our history. _

_Were you at the hospital? The secretary mentioned a John who came to visit us. If it was you, why didn't you show yourself to us? Did you know Dean had amnesia? I really could be using your help right now…I won't ask for it, though, because something tells me I won't get an answer. _

_Do you remember that vampire hunt we went on about six years ago? Dean walked away with a shoulder injury? That vampire I…thought I killed, I think he's back. Dean and I are going after him tomorrow. _

_Also, I got a weird phone call…I think it was you, but I can't be sure. Too many weird things have happened lately. It was broken up, but you told me to get back to Dean, that he needed me. Was it you, or someone else, or was I imagining it? _

_I wish you would call and talk to me and not just deliver cryptic messages. Hell, better yet, I wish you'd quit being a cowardly prick and just show up once in a while in the places you force us to go to. You know, I almost killed Dean at that Roosevelt Asylum?_

_I almost killed my own brother._

_Where the hell were you? _

_We deserve answers._

_Dean deserves **better** than this..._

_-Sam_

Sam observed the white, virtual arrow hovering over the send button. One press and it'd be over with. He swallowed hard and pressed. It was done, but no where near over with.

He shut his eyes, leaning his head back into the wall behind him, almost purposefully in a hard enough manner to hurt.

After taking a moment to let his repressed anger leave him, he revisited thoughts of the vampire.

_I told you I'd come back…_

Sam regretted not making sure he'd killed the vampire years ago. He wished he could go back and change what happened. If he could do it over again, he'd make sure the vampire was dead. Stake in the heart, he'd decapitate him and then burn his dead flesh. He knew why he didn't at the time. Dean was hurt and Sam wanted to get him help as soon as possible. Not only that, but Sam was afraid to think he was different from his family.

All those strange vibes, thoughts, feelings…it wasn't right, wasn't normal…and Sam needed to hold onto his dream of being normal. His hope for normality was the only thing aside from pictures and stories that reminded him of his mother. He knew the Winchester family was normal at one time, and that was before Mary died. If he could hold on to normal, he could hold on to his mother and what she would want for their family. And Sam held on.

His thoughts stirred at a low moan coming from the next bed. He saw Dean's eyes move hectically beneath his eyelids, and he began jerking his body, trying to flee from whatever visions attacked his sleep.

Sam moved the laptop and pillow off him as he slid to the edge of his bed. He wanted to stop Dean's nightmare, and as he reached his hand out to touch Dean's forehead, he stopped in mid-air as he heard his brother speak.

"…Shadows falling…Man without a face…" Dean spoke in a saddened voice, his eyes kept tightly shut.

Sam wondered what his brother could be talking about. He leaned in a bit closer to hear what else Dean was trying to say.

He began mumbling something but Sam couldn't make out what. Then, he twisted in his bed, turning his head back and forth, his breathing accelerated in a panic. Sam was about to stand up, to go over and sit next to him and soothe him back to sleep, but Dean's eyes shot open and tears spilled out.

Sam watched in horror as his brother's eyes looked up to the ceiling and Dean was ignited with terror by the sight. He screamed without a proper breath and managed to move his body closer to the end of the bed, closer to Sam. Before he fell over completely, Sam caught his brother's upper torso, landing them both on the floor between the beds. Instantly, Dean hid his face in Sam's chest, shaking wildly and his voice was crying.

"The ceiling was on fire!"

Sam held on tighter to his brother as he said the words, repeating it over and over with a new wave of fear coursing through him.

"The ceiling was on fire! The ceiling was on fire! Why, Sam? Why was the ceiling on fire?"

"Dean," Sam said softly, trying to grab his attention. He wanted to tell his brother he had a nightmare- that it wasn't real…but he knew it was more than that.

"And that woman," Dean's voice broke into a new tone of grief and confusion. "Bleeding…on fire…" his breath was leaving him and his heart threatening to explode inside his chest. He couldn't find the words for what he'd just seen.

Sam pulled himself closer to Dean, rocking him back and forth in hopes it would comfort his brother. His chest was caught in a burning pain as he realized exactly what Dean saw. Their mother dying…

A twisted pang of remorse cut through his body, wrenched through his heart, as he came to understand what was happening.

_Dean was losing Mom all over again…_

"You know who she was…" Dean told Sam, needing and dreading his brother's confirmation. Sam fought tears in his eyes, looking up at the ceiling with disdain.

"Mom." The word was small but held a greater revelation for Dean, who now clutched his fists onto Sam's shirt.

"No…oh, God…_no_…" he begged. Sam felt the wetness of his shirt cling to his chest as Dean cried.

And Sam recoiled in his own revelation that their mother was being taken away from Dean all over again. Her death was replaying before him like it was the first time. And Sam felt his brother fight the truth from seeming so real, so honest. And Dean was a crestfallen man being reduced to a child once again, being pried away from youth, from childhood, from normal…from his mother, but not from Sam. _Never from Sam._

And Sam let tears fall from his eyes as he apprehended the belief that this time he'd be there for Dean to pick up the pieces of his broken heart. This time, as Dean was falling apart, Sam caught him.

He'd been trying to catch Dean for some time now, and he'd finally been allowed to in the absence of his brother's steady façade of true, but irresolute strength. He cradled Dean towards his chest, an arm placed around Dean's face to block out any image of the ceiling that might remind him of the smoldering tragedy of their past.

He knew how defenseless Dean must feel, how this open wound would attract a world of painful memories yet to come, and Sam needed to let Dean know he wouldn't be alone. He searched his soul for what words to say, what truth to now speak that might attempt a beginning of the healing process, and the moment his thought landed on it he spoke from his heart to his brother's.

"We've still got each other," Sam said thankfully, rubbing Dean's back. Dean sobbed into Sam's shoulder when he said it, and Sam tried to pacify his pain with a strong hug, not knowing if he'd ever been so close to Dean as he was now. A diminutive, exposing smile came to his face as he recognized the honesty in his own words. "We'll _always_ have each other,"

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_**To be continued…**_

_Feedback is appreciated. Thanks so much for reading…hope it was entertaining! The next chapter will be up soon. _

_Silver Kitten_


	6. A Painful Kind of Hurt

**The Beckoning**

Chapter Six: A Painful Kind of Hurt

Author's Note: Hi everyone! Thanks to all who have read/reviewed! I just thought I'd add this shorter chapter so the next one isn't too terribly long. It's almost 2 in the morning but I wanted to get this out. I added more insight to the vampire, and hopefully I won't regret this when I'm fully awake in the morning and re-read what I wrote lol. If I do, I suppose there is an edit button…hmm. Anyway, if you think it's taking a turn for the worst…let me know and I'll promptly try to make it better. There are many options to choose from when it comes to the Vampire world, I find, and in fiction it's easy to warp theories to your personal liking. So what I'm going to do…hopefully will be all right. Feedback is appreciated, as always!

Second Author's Note: Hi again, sorry lol, just thought I'd mention that while writing the first half of this I pretty much had the song "Right Here" by Staind playing on repeat…it really reminds me of the brothers.

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Sunlight etched into the room, filtering in with the tired lamplight that covered the sleeping Winchester brothers. Both had fallen asleep, Dean first as he cried the pain away, and Sam last as he was unable to move and wake his finally resting brother. Sam was first to wake. His back had begun hurting as Dean was unintentionally pinning him to the uncomfortable wooden bedside.

"Sorry you had to find out like this," Sam hardly whispered the words to his brother. It was a terrible shame to have nightmares born from tragedy, but to have a nightmare prove to have a greater existence than an unconscious, unreal vision…Sam couldn't fathom it.

After a few minutes of Sam contemplating whether or not he should try and move Dean, Dean stirred himself awake. He lifted himself up and away from Sam, half asleep and half unaware of reality for the short time he'd become conscious again. With one glance around the room, seeing the tangled bed sheets, he looked up and once more was struck with realization. _It was more than a nightmare._

Not wanting to cry, and willing away the memory, Dean fumbled with his aching body to stand up much quicker than his limbs were able. Sam was fast to help his brother stand, but Dean wanted to get away.

"No, I can't," Dean said, his voice signing off with anger and fear.

"Can't what?" Sam asked with utter confusion.

"I don't want to remember anymore!" Dean shouted now. He was freaked. Sam wasn't sure what to say to that.

"Dean,"

"No…I don't want to…I can't," he was anxious now, throwing the covers around like he was looking for something. He squeezed his eyes shut trying to rid himself the warm stinging sensation he was feeling.

Sam asked the only thing one could ask to follow a statement like that. "Why not?"

Dean stopped in his fruitless search and held a panicked breath.

"It hurts…"

Sam wished he could interpret that he meant physically, but he knew all too well it was a more significant, more painful kind of hurt. Sam hung his head down.

"I know it does," he could only agree. He'd never deny that. "But, eventually…I mean,"

"NO!" Dean yelled, forcing Sam's eyes to look up and meet his. "I can just…get a new life. I'll start over. I can be whoever I want to be. No demons, no monsters…no fire…Just…normal. I want to be normal."

At the words, Sam's stomach churned. He'd suddenly felt everything he held inside of him, everything he never thought he'd hear his brother say, expel itself from the myth that it wasn't possible, that it could never happen. And Sam lamented for his brother's wish for normal, a wish Sam once was granted only to have it taken away. Normal wasn't something they could have. Sam, at this point, wasn't even sure he really wanted normal anymore. All he wanted now was what was natural, what was right…he wanted his brother back.

"But…we can't have normal…"

"Why not? Because some…thing killed our Mom? Because we hear voices and hunt ghosts? Maybe I did that before, but not anymore…I don't remember, and I don't want to."

"It's who you _are_, Dean."

"It's who I _was_. I don't want to be some kind of a…a freak!" Dean sounded desperate, and Sam felt insulted on his brother's behalf when he used the word 'freak'. "I need to get out of here," he finished quickly.

"What? And go where?" Sam questioned with a higher authority in his voice. "You don't know what's out there!"

"I don't care."

Sam knew that Dean had no idea about what he was saying. He thought once he could pick up his gun and force his brother's understanding, away from stubbornness, to tell him all the gruesome horrors of the world and open his eyes so he could see…so he could be safe. Yet, the thought of pointing another gun at his brother made Sam feel even more ill than he already did.

Sam also knew that this wasn't Dean talking. It was a mere projection of his brother before him, a vision of a boy forced into adulthood and thrown into a world of unspeakable, paranormal truths. He was a man who'd been sleeping for decades, finally waking up to the true nightmare that evil coexisted on this planet; waking to a world with a murdered mother, a missing father, and a brother finding himself incapable of protecting his protector.

He was a lost child who didn't get to grow up, who was left untrained to be fearless, to not cry, and to not express weakness. He was Dean without their father's molding, without his warrior casing, and he was not the same. He was an orphan to his years of conditioning and practice, and a stranger yet to Sam.

And Dean, as Sam was discovering, was irrevocably aware of it all; of the ludicrous life they were forced to live, of his human desire to be normal and accepted, of his unshakeable belief that deep down he must be some kind of a freak for putting up with it all.

For a moment, Sam held in his urge to openly curse their absent father. John Winchester was to blame for all of this, Sam was certain now. John turned Dean into a 'freak'- he manipulated every cell in his body to become a less-than-human machine fighting for the salvation of humanity. Dean was pushed to fight for a world that he felt rejected him, all for the will of his father. Their Dad created the void and made sure it was left unfilled.

Putting blame on someone, no matter how strongly it might be deserved and help the psyche to continue moving forward, wasn't going to stop the issue at hand. Sam had to think quickly.

"If you would only listen to me for a moment," Sam was pleading, hoping some shred of his brother had been left unscathed by the awful circumstances, which would yield to the simple request. Dean looked closely at his brother, taking a moment himself to calm his nerves.

"I'm listening," Dean spoke sharply, but his eyes held a softer expression towards his brother now. Somewhere far inside he wanted to be convinced of a better option than walking out the door into a world of loneliness and answerless questions.

"You want to leave…to never remember. I get that…because I'll admit that I thought about lying to you, about never telling you the truth of who we are and what we do. It would be so much easier. But…the thought led me to another, and that was losing you. I don't want to lose you. I know you don't remember me or our history, but you've been there for me since…forever. And finally I have a chance to be here for you, to help you…but I need you to let me. I need my brother back, Dean…I miss you,"

The elder Winchester took some time to reflect on the younger one's sincere words. There was only one thing he could think of to reply with.

"Sam, I'm scared," Dean spoke sorrowfully. His openness to exclaiming fear was both a relief and a shock to Sam.

"I know. I'm scared, too," Sam admitted, stepping closer to Dean. "But you're a Hell of a lot stronger than you think. You're the bravest person I know, and if I lose you, if you walk out…then I'm losing the one person who gives me the strength to fight. And, it won't be easy…but you can pull through this. We're gonna be all right, I promise."

Silence fell more uncomfortably between them than Sam had hoped after cutting himself open and letting his honest words bleed out. His apprehension of a response grew tighter within his chest as he watched Dean nod, looking away around the room as if considering his options, before finally setting his eyes upon Sam's again. A small smile appeared.

There wasn't much to turn away from in that speech and Dean didn't know any better but to believe that whatever Sam wanted from him, Sam would get…be it from his way with words or the unrelenting inclination Dean had to succumb to his brother's wishes. Dean was powerless to do anything but have faith in his brother's words.

"I'm sorry, Sam…I don't mean to let you down," his smile disappeared behind a look of regret as he sat down on his bed in defeat.

"What?"

"You really look up to me…and here I am disappointing you, threatening to leave when you've been nothing but supportive. Man, I suck at being a good brother."

At that, Sam didn't stifle his laughter, which grabbed Dean's attention steadfastly. "What's so funny?"

"You're the epitome of a good brother. Sometimes, you're _too_ good of a brother. And I can't wait for you to remember that. You'd be laughing now, too." Sam told him, shaking his head. Dean forced a laugh, wanting to be included in the humor of the situation.

Sam was thankful for a brief interlude of lighthearted laughter they could share; as fleeting as it was it lifted some of the tension in the room.

"So," Sam began, renewed with hope that somehow this was going to work out. "Think you're up for learning some old tricks to kill a vampire?"

Dean sighed, releasing any fear and anxiety he had and putting complete trust in his brother. Maybe it was the look in Sam's eyes, or the assurance of his voice, or a gut feeling Dean couldn't ignore as well as couldn't place…that told him things really were going to be okay. If anything, he was going to give his brother a chance. Dean silently affirmed he would let Sam help him.

"This should be interesting…" Dean said semi-cheerily.

Within two hours of fresh daylight passing, each of them had showered and cleaned up. Sam made sure to clean the blood on the mirror well, not wanting to leave any suspicion for the motel management behind. He was both happy and frustrated to wait for Dean to finish his shower. It was much like the old Dean to take forever getting ready.

As he waited, he collected as much information as he could to teach Dean what they knew about vampires.

There were many theories they learned about a vampire's strengths and weaknesses, how vampires are made and how they are killed. Sam would have to teach Dean how to properly stake one, while reminding himself at the same time. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

Sam couldn't suppress the fear that there might be more to this than he anticipated. If he wanted either one of them dead, couldn't the vampire have done it by now? Or was he waiting for something; planning something? Vampires were tricksters by right, master manipulators bending their opponents to their will. Sam didn't want to think this could all be a trap, but if it was…he'd have to prepare for it, because he wasn't going to let fear get the best of him. He wasn't going to let a stealthy threat stand between him and his brother's safety.

After all, if this vampire could attack Dean…just because he hasn't doesn't mean he won't. Sam wasn't going to take the chance. Whatever the vampire wanted, Sam was going to make sure he didn't get…or he'll die trying.

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In a nearly empty room of a seemingly unoccupied manor, there stood a shadow of a being, beginning to pace back and forth.

"Maeron, you're going to do it…" the vampire cooed to himself, a smile filled with delight splicing onto his lips.

He'd mused for days on end about his sinister, ingenious plan…and it was coming together better than he could have ever imagined.

For years, the Winchester clan had destroyed more evil and put a shrieking halt to more acts of violent devastation than a gargoyle could turn to stone. The trio of warriors had made an infamous name for themselves in the dark caverns of the Underworld. Stories of their vanquishing of demons, exorcisms, bone burnings, werewolf shootings, etcetera…had traveled the globe.

Needless to say, the spooks over international waters made a laughing mockery of the Winchester family…only because the Winchester's have yet to pay a visit to the foreign bastards. All in time.

However, all else was naught of concern for this vampire…at least directly. He had a plan. Divide and conquer: never fails.

He was going to be the first to succeed in stopping these evil-wrecking do-gooders once and for all. After tapping into the youngest Winchester's memories, he was able to extract the perfect method. Nothing was worse than guilt, and Maeron planned to use it as much as possible.

Make Sam think he didn't kill the vampire six years prior…that this vampire was coming back for them like he swore…Make Sam believe it's his fault his brother is in trouble…

How simple it was…

He wanted to bring the fall of the mighty Winchesters, but at the same time he'd grown rather attached to one of them…

That Dean Winchester…he could perhaps be the strongest of the three. The father was getting older, less capable in his age, and the youngest was plain and simply weak compared to Dean. At first sight, Dean was unstoppable. At second sight, you knew instantly you wanted him to be on your side…and how tempting the thought was.

He wanted Dean to be his. Eternity was a long time to live by yourself, and he could use the company.

Maeron admired Dean's unending strength, his passion and zeal for life—for if he could hold so much devotion to help other's live, Maeron could just imagine if he could twist it so Dean had the same devotion to the side of death. Together, they'd be relentless.

If this vampire could succeed in breaking apart the enemies and gaining an alliance in one of them, he'd be pushed straight to the top of the ladder when it came to menacing actions.

Only one thing stood in the way of Maeron's plan reaching success…and that was Sam.

Dean would never leave Sam, would never turn on him for a lifestyle of evil, abandoning the good he'd worked years to maintain in the world. But Maeron decided he could use his amnesia to his assistance; twist the memories, twist the truth…

He'd get Dean on his side, on Evil's territory where he'd do more aid than harm…

And then he could dispose of the little brother, of the weakest link…

"Little Sammy…" Maeron spat the name out with ridicule and contempt. "Get rid of the weakest Winchester, the strongest will be mine…forever…"

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_**To Be Continued…**_

_**The next part will be better, I promise...lol. Thanks for reading! **_

_** Silver Kitten  
**_


	7. Betrayed by Memories

**The Beckoning**

Chapter Seven: Betrayed by Memories

Author's Note: Thanks again for all the lovely reviews and I apologize for posting so late. Writer's block found its way to me once again. That, and stupid work…Anyways, no more stalling.

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"Show me again," Dean coaxed, prepping his arm back.

"Like this, right here," Sam held the blunt end of a wooden stake over his heart, watching his brother pay close attention as if fascinated. He pulled it back away and handed it to his brother. "Ready?"

The eldest nodded as he let the stake get comfortable in his now sweating palms. He took in a deep breath before plunging it forward to Sam's chest, stopping only when he made contact with his body and then put a shrieking halt on his own strength, which he still was not accustomed to.

"You weren't supposed to actually hit me," Sam said between a struggled inhale, mixed with a slight laugh.

"Oh, sorry," Dean frowned, pulling the threatening object away and down to his side.

Sam tried hiding his smile now. It wasn't every day he heard his brother use the word 'sorry' and he didn't think he'd ever get used to hearing it.

"It's alright. This is coming back to you pretty naturally, which is understandable since you've been doing this kind of stuff for most of your life," Sam said, and it wasn't until he heard the words spoken aloud that he realized the sadness behind them.

"Most of my life, huh," Dean sighed. He seemed to be contemplating the fact his brother had just shared, and then he was brought back to the present. "You, too?"

Sam wasn't quick to answer. He knew he grew up in a world where monsters existed, while Dean had nearly five years behind him where there was no reason to fear the dark. "Yeah. Me, too."

"What do we do for fun?" Dean asked innocently, unaware that hunting was something he usually considered fun (unless, of course, some unthinkable being was after his kid brother).

"Fun," Sam scoffed at the word, but then saw the look shining in his brother's eyes as he awaited an answer. He then became suddenly determined to make something of their job sound fun. "Well, you're a pretty avid pool hust- um, player. And you play poker, and…" Sam's mind drifted. _You can often be found gambling with your money and your life, and you're gifted when it comes to committing basically any kind of fraud, and obtaining any kind of fake I.D. you might like…not to mention an uncanny ability to pick up unsuspecting women._

"With who?"

Sam's thoughts were cut off by his brother's voice.

"Pardon?"

"Who do I play poker with and stuff?"

Sam didn't have the heart to tell him it wasn't a typical poker night with the guys Dean sought out. It was with whatever strung out, drunken idiots he could find at a sloppy table with an extra chair; or the more advanced, coherent type when Dean felt up to a nice challenge.

"Just, um…different people. Ya know, we travel a lot…and so,"

"No time to make friends." Dean finished, and Sam let a frown emerge at the sad finality his brother's words owned.

"Um, yeah…" Sam coughed and cleared his throat, stalling in his response.

"It's all right. I figure it just comes with this job, right? I bet we don't get close to a lot of people…"

_Except for one…Jessica._

"It's a dangerous risk getting involved with anyone," Sam somehow conjured the strength to speak the words as his memories fell on a certain, haunting image of his girlfriend burning to death. "In our line of work." he added and pushed his pain further inside for the sake of his brother. _Dean doesn't need this right now._ "Speaking of which, I believe there's a vampire heart waiting to be staked. Think you're ready?" he deliberately changed the subject.

"Ready as I'll ever be,"

"Good. And you remember what I told you?"

"If you hold their gazes, they could possibly hypnotize you into their control. Just because it's daylight doesn't mean they can't be wandering the dark halls of their house. Not all vampires sleep in coffins. And…" Dean stopped in his recital of Sam's instructions to think for a moment. "Oh, and to kill a vampire you can stake it in the heart, or decapitate it. As you've been telling me for the past hour,"

"Hey, I just want to be sure you know the basics,"

"Well, you can be really, really, really sure now," Dean cracked a smile. "So are we gonna hunt this thing while there's still sunlight?"

For a moment, Sam simply took in his brother's patented anxiousness to get into the thrill of the hunt.

"Yeah," Sam chuckled. "Let's get going,"

The car ride back to the manor wasn't quiet. Sam had no problem in allowing Metallica to fill the silence in the Impala, knowing his brother was rather fond of the band he didn't remember hearing before.

As they saw the manor in the near distance, suddenly Dean reached for the volume knob and turned it all the way down.

"Everything okay?" Sam couldn't help the question. Dean let out a sigh. It seemed as they were approaching the manor, a chilling realization was burning in his thoughts. _There's a chance we could die here_…

"Well, um…Yeah. It's just…" Dean stumbled with his words, an expression of frustration played across his face. "I was thinking…what if I never get my memories back?"

Sam dodged glances with the empty stretch of highway and fields around them, his hands gripped the steering wheel. The thought had crossed his mind before, about his brother never remembering…but there was something different, more intensely sad in the question arising from Dean himself.

"Honestly, Dean…I don't know. I guess I just have to believe you will. I need to have…faith,"

"Will you be mad at me if I don't?"

Sam felt his brother's eyes watching him, eagerly waiting for an answer. He had no idea where the question was coming from, but he could make a safe guess as to what Dean needed to hear.

"No," Sam almost laughed at the absurdity of the idea. "This isn't your fault, number one," he silently shamed himself. _It's because of me_. "And secondly, you're my brother no matter what. I'm going to be here for you, always, like it or not," he took his eyes off the road briefly to glance supportively at his brother.

"That's…good to know," Dean said with relief, as though he half expected a different answer.

By then, they pulled up to the iron gates in front of the manor. Sam turned the engine off and stared at the ignition.

"If something's bothering you,"—

"I want to tell you something, but I can't," Dean interrupted hastily.

"You can't? Why?"

"Because…I just can't. I can't explain it. Never mind, okay?" Dean was halfway out of the car by the time he finished. Sam rushed out to meet his bewildered gaze above the Chevy Impala.

"Dean,"

"It doesn't matter right now. We have a job to do, and I just want it to be over with," he seemed to observe the disappointment in Sam's expression and sighed. "Can we just talk about this later?"

Sam nodded, agreeing that they did have a job to do, but still couldn't help but worry and wonder what was going on with his brother.

"Later, then." The taller Winchester said, shutting the car door. He wanted to press on, but knew frustrating Dean wouldn't help the situation. Dean was upset about something, and forcing him to talk about it wouldn't be very encouraging, especially with his state of mind.

-:-

Sam hated being back in the cold, dark manor. As he and his brother trekked through the halls, making sure to open all the curtains to let the sunlight in along the way, a familiar feeling of dread came over him.

They weren't alone, and Sam knew it…he just didn't know if he'd be able to protect his brother like his brother had an engrained talent for protecting him. And that scared him beyond words. Yet, he couldn't just leave Dean alone somewhere, back at the motel or sitting in the Impala waiting. He didn't trust letting his brother out of his sight.

They reached the stairwell for the second time and Sam wasn't going to chance another accident.

"Let's check out the cellar, first," Sam said, cautiously stepping in front of his brother and moving ahead to the back of the manor.

"Not a bad place to start,"

The farther down the stairs they got, the louder the steps creaked. Once the light, although dim, was on and they were able to see the debris from the top floors collapsing, it was a frightening reminder to Sam that he could have lost Dean. He cringed with the thought and had to look over to his brother to validate he was still there, alive and well.

"This is where you found me?" Dean now asked with an obvious twinge of horror in his voice as he took in the sight.

"Yeah," Sam took a moment to collect himself from the painful memory of seeing his brother lying there. "It wasn't looking too well for you,"

"Seems to be a miracle I survived at all. I guess I have you to thank for that, don't I?"

"What, me? I'm not a miracle worker," Sam let out a small laugh.

"Sure, okay," Dean said without much enthusiasm behind the words. "Just go on and say it, I have a hard head," he grinned.

Before Sam could answer, each of them heard something muffled.

With better focused mental clarity, Sam was able to see more of the cellar now than the first time he'd been in it. Behind some of the towers of boxes there was a door. He assumed the sound came from there. He turned to his brother and silently approved the next step of moving to the source of the noise, which Dean acknowledged.

Stakes in hand, the boys slid the boxes away and Sam was first to make a try to open the door. The handle was loose as if it could fall off at any moment. In the new darkness their flashlights cut through, revealing a larger room than they were in already. Given the size of the manor, they weren't too surprised.

Most of the room was consumed with trash and dirt, a few pieces of random furnishings scattered throughout. There were a few more rooms spread out, one of them a wine cellar filled with a myriad of different wines, all decorated with a thick sheet of dust. Upon investigating the room further, the noise was heard again and neither could determine where exactly it came from. The two of them stepped into the room quietly, careful to monitor their surroundings.

Sam kept watch for Dean more than himself, making sure he'd be the first one aware if any vampire made an attempt to attack his brother. And as he constantly reverted his attention to Dean, he lost sight of his own perimeter but never would have seen what happened next coming anyway. Suddenly, Sam found himself swung into the wine cellar, hitting the ground with a loud thump, and being enclosed in darkness with the snap and lock of the cellar door.

"Sam!" Dean yelled for his brother, running towards the door and using all his strength to pull it open but to no avail. "Sam! Are you okay? Can you hear me?" _Please answer_…

"He can't hear you,"

Dean turned around, stringing his flashlight around with him. He thought he saw the shadow of a man quickly moving. So inhumanly…

Dean then realized he dropped the wooden stake somewhere, probably when he took off after his brother. He cursed himself. When he turned around to go retrieve it, he was met with a harsh blow backwards as the vampire stood there in his way.

"I was hoping you'd come, hunter," the vampire appeared deceptively porcelain, given he had enough strength with his mind alone to throw grown men into rooms, shut and lock the doors, with hardly taking a single breath. His eyes were strikingly pale like clouded glass, and there was a rigid smile stretching over his narrow features. He removed a fraying strand of black hair out of his eyes to get a better view of Dean. "I believe the last we spoke I left with unfinished business,"

"Move away from the door," Dean held his ground firm, careful not to hold eye contact with the vampire. "And let my brother go,"

"Can't we discuss this, first?" the vampire mocked cordiality.

"No,"

"Well, the way I see it…" the creature stepped towards Dean as he spoke. "You have two options. Either you listen to me, or you watch your brother die. It's up to you,"

"Who the hell do you think you are? What do you want?"

"You can call me Maeron. Right now, let's focus more on you. We'll get to what I want later. But you, what do you want?"

Before Dean had a chance to respond, strong hands clapped his shoulders and he was forced to sit down on a conveniently placed wooden chair, one of the select random items in the room. The vampire continued.

"Why don't I answer for you, hmm?" he placed his cold fingers on Dean's temples and pressed hard. Dean wanted to move, to stand, to break away from the frigid touch but he was unable. "You want to be appreciated. You want…a real family,"

"Shut up! I have a family,"

"You have a dead mother, an absent father, and a brother who always leaves. Have you forgotten? Allow me to help you remember,"

And a whirlwind of images flashed themselves behind Dean's shut eyes.

His mother pinned to the ceiling again, consumed by fire…

A strangely familiar man sitting on a bed encircled by salt, pictures and news articles decorating the walls in a mosaic of obsessive design…

And then the moving pictures stilled, and in a new clarity there was his brother, standing in a room Dean didn't recognize at first.

-:-

"_You're really leaving…"_

"_I'm not leaving. I'm just…going away for a while."_

"_Away from me,"_

"_Dean, don't do this,"_

"_Do what?"_

"_Don't twist this so it's about you. This is about me and what I want,"_

"_What about all I've done for you? What about what I have wanted and didn't get?"_

"_The only person stopping you from getting what you want is yourself."_

"_You and Dad are all I have, Sammy. And Dad's gone most of the time. What am I supposed to do when you're off at college?"_

"_Get a job, join the real world…do something you want to do,"_

"_This is what I want to do, Sam. But I can't do it alone,"_

"_Yes you can,"_

"_Sammy,"_

"_It's Sam,"_

"_Don't…"_

"_Goodbye, Dean."_

_A door opens and closes harshly, and Dean realizes he's left alone in the dark room. _

-:-

More images flickered wildly like a fierce candle ready to erupt in high flame. He saw things he felt should be impossible to be seen. He saw several different creatures with claws and fangs, so many different people, and objects being thrown about a room by an invisible force; he heard howling and screaming and saw several stages of the moon through filtered scenes of forestry. Once again, the images stopped moving and froze on one individual, in one foreboding and familiar room.

"_**You hate me that much…?" **_

_The gun was on him again. Sam's gun. And when Sam pulled the trigger, he got his answer._

_**He hates me…**_

"No," Dean opened his eyes, the cold hands were off of him and he wondered if he was alone. He felt warm tears come to his eyes as his gaze wandered to the closed door where Sam was behind.

"Don't fight the truth. He hates you and you know it, you feel it…"

"He's my brother. He doesn't hate me."

"And what do you truly know of him? What evidence do you have that that's true? For all you know, he's using you,"

"Using me for what?"

"To bring back your father. Do you remember why your father left, hunter?"

Dean shook his head no, unwillingly indulging Maeron's request to communicate.

"He left because Sam left and wanted nothing more to do with you. Sam came back for you only because he felt guilty for leaving your father. He's back for purely selfish reasons. Once you find your father, they're both going to leave you…forever,"

"That's not true!"

"Honestly, hunter, tell me one good reason why it's not possible? You don't remember the pain he caused you. All that time he was away you were left to struggle on your own. Did you ever wonder that maybe you can't remember your past because it hurt so much and you only wished you could forget?"

Dean was quiet at this statement, sadly considering the vampire's masked words. He did wonder if there was more to his memory loss than a head injury. What if, deep down, he really wanted to forget, to have no memory of history's pain? But no…that couldn't be why…

"You don't want to be alone anymore," Maeron said, and he began circling Dean now. "You don't want this life. You weren't meant for it. You were meant for greater things. You were meant to be appreciated. You were never meant to be alone,"

"But…Sam…"

"Forget about him. You don't need him, and he wants nothing to do with you, remember?"

Dean wanted to stand up, to defend himself and his brother, but he was scared because what the vampire was telling him made sense. He didn't want to be alone, he didn't want this life…

"I…"

"I can save you from this loneliness, from the threat of future abandonment. I can protect you from those who only want to hurt you," Maeron persisted in convincing Dean.

"How?" Dean didn't understand how the question found his voice. It was something more subconscious and provoked by the deeper question inside of him. Why did he want to know?

"It's simple," Maeron stepped in front of Dean once again, leaning down towards him with inspecting eyes. "I turn you. Make you one of what I am. I can give you a life you deserve."

"What about Sam?" Dean's gaze fell on the silent door. He wondered if Sam was okay or hurt, but he found the worry in him depleted by a sense of apathy. He wanted to care, but he couldn't. Maeron had manager to lift his hand to Dean's chin and forced their eyes to meet before Dean could blink.

"Forget. About. Sam." His voice, once thoughtful and lenient, had turned cold. "Your memories betray you. He doesn't care about you. He's a selfish liar. And you know sooner or later he'll leave you again,"

Dean fought to close his eyes but somewhere had lost the ability, and soon lost the notion altogether. He felt something slip away from him, something so far away now he couldn't grasp what he'd lost. Without him knowing it, hardly feeling it, his head was tilted to the side and his neck met with a warm breath sending chills throughout his entire body.

The last thing he was consciously aware of hearing were words that brought a surprising, unidentifiable comfort with them.

"_I will be your family now_,"

-:-

Sam opened his eyes while his body startled back to consciousness. He had no idea how long he'd be out. It could have been a few seconds to a few hours. Instantly, he thought of his brother.

"Dean!" he yelled, having to catch his breath as he felt the wind had been knocked out of him. He scrambled to find his flashlight lying somewhere next to him, while at the same time wondering if it was even with him. "Dean!"

He stood up wearily in the dark, not able to see a single thing. He couldn't even hear anything but the sound of his rapid breathing. He put his arms out in front of him and walked slowly forward. His hand pressed against something cold and smooth. A wine bottle. He then realized he must be in the cellar. It wasn't the fact he was locked inside that scared him. It was the fact whatever put him there had Dean out there, alone and vulnerable.

As if putting more fierce demand on the word would help, he yelled for his brother again. He followed the rack of bottles across the wall, leading to another, and another, and then he found what felt like the door. He slid his hand up and down it looking for a handle but couldn't seem to find one. He decided to just try and pound on it.

Perhaps, he thought, if he hit hard enough, he could break the door down and get to Dean.

"Dean! If you can hear me, please answer me!"

Again and again he struck the door with his fists, feeling a bit ridiculous, much like a child being put in a corner as punishment when he did nothing wrong. He just wanted to get out. He wanted to lash out at whoever was doing this.

The darkness was irritating, but he supposed if he actually saw the door that was keeping him from his brother, he might break his wrists in a fight to get out.

"Dean!" once again he yelled in a painful cry. He couldn't think of losing his brother. Not now, not ever. Why couldn't the door just open? Why couldn't he get out?

"Let me out!" Sam then shouted at the culprit who put him there. "Right now, you mother fucker!" and he gave one final pound on the door, letting his fist slide down its rigid exterior. It was no use. The door wasn't going to open. Dean was going to die. And Sam knew he was going to burn in hell for being a miserable excuse for a brother, let alone a hero, for letting Dean die.

And when his hope gave out and his strength basically faded in with the darkness around him, a sliver of light appeared after a small scratching of wood against wood.

The door had opened.

Sam stared at it for a moment, wondering if he'd finally begun to crack and he was imaging things. Maybe he wanted the door open so much he'd just imagined it was open.

He cautiously put his fingers lightly on the door and gave a small push. When it moved outward, he almost laughed with triumph as he bolted out.

Getting a visual again on the room, still dark, he saw a flashlight on the ground, its light projecting on a wall. Sam ran for it, picked it up, and abruptly flashing it over the room.

"Dean?" he felt something swell in his throat and he stumbled forward, his foot tapping something. He put the flashlight down to see his brother lying on the ground, slumped over on his side. "Oh, God," Sam let the horrified whisper escape him, and he swore it'd be the last breath he'd waste on life until he knew Dean was still breathing.

Sam fell to the ground next him, holding his brother up to him, trying to gently shake him to life.

He heard Dean let out a tired exhale and Sam found it to be the most beautiful sound in the world. His brother was alive. And Sam was sick and tired of getting so close to believing he'd lost him. He helped hoist his brother up and they walked carefully to the next room where there was more light.

Sam was partially relieved to no longer feel another presence with them, and at the same time it scared him. Why would the vampire leave? What happened?

Once they got into the light, Sam saw with his own eyes what must have happened. And if he hadn't been helping Dean to stand then surely he'd give in to the fainting sensation that was overwhelming him.

As Sam's eyes drifted to the two bleeding punctures on Dean's neck, he felt his heart plummet.

"No," he gasped, setting his brother down to get a better view of the terrifying spectacle. Dean had his eyes shut, seemed to be drifting to and from consciousness, and Sam wanted nothing more than to just wake up from the nightmare he was living now.

A million fears collided with a million possibilities as he realized his brother was bitten. And the countdown started. He had twenty four hours now to kill the bloodsucking bastard, to save his brother. And if he failed…then in twenty four hours, his brother was going to die…and be born again a vampire.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-

_**To be continued…**_

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_Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it. I actually liked this part, and now I'm all fired up to write the next part. Feedback is wonderful and appreciated. _

_Silver Kitten_


	8. Only a Moment

**The Beckoning**

Chapter Eight: Only a Moment

Author's Note: Finally, an update! I almost wanted to give up on this story, and thought maybe I should take a hint when Microsoft Word had a sudden "error" and needed to close and if it wasn't for Auto-recovery, this chapter would have been lost…Alas, I'm willing to laugh at cruel fate and say "better luck next time!" because here it is…hehehe. There's Sam "whumping"-I think is the term, or one of them?- in this chapter…I like torturing both of the Winchester brothers, lol. Um, oh, of course-THANK YOU to everyone who is reading/reviewing this. It does wonders for my peace of mind to know someone out there can find some form of enjoyment in my story. Speaking of which, I'll shut up so you can read…

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-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"No, no, no, no, no," Sam exhaled violently, grappling his brother's coat collar in his hands, peering almost angrily at the bite marks on Dean's neck. He could only wonder how he'd let such a thing happen. All his life Dean was there for him and protected him. All his life. And now, in this one, small moment of Dean's life Sam realized how much he was failing at being there for him.

"I'm not cut out for this protection thing, Dean," Sam fought tears but his voice wasn't fighting the sadness he was burying. "I don't know what to do…" He hung his head down, unable to look at his brother.

Sam thought about the vampire; where he'd gone and when he'd come back. It made sense now in a complicated way, which Sam was used to dealing with. The vampire didn't want Dean dead. He wanted to turn Dean. The only question was why?

And Sam suddenly realized that the time for questions was long passed. It didn't matter why, it only mattered that Sam stopped what was already set in motion. Scowling on a dirty floor of an old manor wasn't going to save his brother. He finally let his eyes cross over the now-sleeping Dean, saw how peaceful he seemed and wondered what Hell he'd wake up to.

Sam knew he had to find the vampire. Yet, he couldn't just leave Dean there all alone. He had to make a choice, and taking time to deliberate wasn't an option.

_What would Dean do?_ Sam wondered, silently musing that if their positions were switched, Dean would go after the son of a bitch to save his little brother. But Sam hated the idea of leaving Dean. He couldn't help but think about how Dean might react, waking up alone in a dimly lit room. However, if Sam didn't go hunting for the vampire now, find and kill him, then his brother was surely doomed. He made the reluctant choice to leave Dean behind and could only pray that maybe Dean would stay unconscious while Sam was away.

He took off his jacket and tucked it beneath Dean's head to add a little support. He checked his brother's pulse and was surprised to find it beating so fast, but he wouldn't complain. Dean was still alive, still human.

"I'm coming back for you, Dean," Sam spoke firmly, placing a gently hand on his brother's shoulder. "I swear, I'm coming back."

He silently wished his brother could hear him, and rest assured that he'd return.

And then Sam stood up, mildly sore but not letting the pain in his muscles affect him. Right now, nothing would divert him from his mission to find the vampire. Nothing…except for the fact he had no idea where to start looking.

-:-

Sam was relying mostly on his instinct now, which was frighteningly becoming more of a source for his actions than he'd like to admit. He felt for any vibe that might be pressing him, any thought that might whisper a hint that it was safe to move here or he should be cautious to venture there.

He couldn't be sure the vampire was still in the manor, but he wasn't going to assume he was alone; especially since he was still in the dark. Assuming you were alone in the dark was always a dangerous thing to do.

He reached the top of the stairs to the main floor. He glanced out a window, took notice that the sun had readily begun to set and a wash of darkness filled the air. The vampire couldn't have gone far, Sam hoped, considering it was only becoming dusk now. And he was right. He suddenly felt it.

It was like a chilling breeze, but came from the inside out. For a moment he froze and then in a rush his thoughts rattled together in one, solid mass of understanding.

_He's upstairs. Get upstairs. _

He took off running, foolishly not caring that he might slip and fall. He knew that trying to be stealthy wouldn't help. After all, the vampire probably already knew Sam was coming for him. He twisted away from objects cluttering the hall and ran upstairs to the top floor. He almost purposefully applied extra pressure in the affect to stomp madly up the stairs, making his presence known. And upstairs, through the dark he saw down the hall a door ajar, a flickering light crisscrossing the shadows.

And again, Sam got a vibe that shook him involuntarily.

_He's waiting._

He swallowed all reactions of fear, tightened his grip on his stake, and marched forward to the room.

And as he went down the hall, it hit him that he was heading for the room where this all started: where his brother fell. Again, he was forced to push aside any other thoughts and feelings and focus only on the most vital. Kill the vampire. Save Dean.

Sam pushed the door completely open. There were a few candles, set atop a rather faulty looking table, which lit the room in a yellowish glow. Sam took in a breath as he saw the dark figure standing by the window, his back to Sam.

"So, you've come to kill me, have you?" The vampire spoke with amusement in his voice. Sam gritted his teeth.

"You're already dead, remember? I'm just sending you to Hell," Sam took a feeble token of self-appreciation for flinging the vampire's words back to him. The vampire then turned around, his eyes flashing an endless hue of black and his mouth slightly agape from the fangs that jutted out. He was grinning.

Sam eyed the vampire suspiciously, wondering who would make the first move. In anticipation, Sam began to study the vampire's face and took notice of the fact that…he wasn't familiar. He couldn't help his curiosity, and he needed to attempt to validate he wasn't losing what he had left of sanity.

"I've never fought you before, have I?"

The vampire's grin widened maliciously.

"Quite the observer, young hunter."

"But…why…the voice,"—

Sam was cut off by a hollow laughter that seemed to make even the shadows cringe.

"It was a nice detail, wasn't it? I figured if I was going to do this, I should have fun with it. Why not read into your pathetic mind a little, see where you come from. The guilt of uncertainty in you is overwhelming, and I couldn't help myself with the idea of taking advantage of that. Have no worry, for you properly killed that vampire years ago. I was just-to put it blatantly-messing with you. And it worked, didn't it? Got the wheels turning in that head of yours, distracted you, weakened you…"

"What do you want?"

"You know what I want."

_Dean…_

"Yeah, well you can't have him,"

"Little boy," his grin vanished. "I already have him."

The vampire lunged at Sam and then seemed to disappear. Sam held his stake up in preparation to attack, but found he was staring at nothing. He tried to brace himself, to turn around, but his speed was no match for the monster he was desperately hunting.

A strong, heavy swipe of a shadowed arm cut across his back and Sam was sent flying into the wall. He wasn't really in too much pain, just couldn't catch his breath. The hit had winded him and he coughed to get a better intake of oxygen. He tried to stand back up, and barely maintained balance. He was still holding onto his stake with a death grip, and stared towards his unfriendly foe.

"Poor Sam," the vampire began laughing again, and Sam felt his eyes on him. "You try so hard to be the avenger, the protector. You just don't have it in you…and you know it," the words cut into Sam although he tried not to show it. The vampire was playing mind games with him and Sam had to be stronger than to crumble at words that spoke of hidden secrets.

"You're trying to break me, and I won't let you," Sam hissed, now wishing the new throbbing in his back would go away.

"Is that what you think I'm doing- breaking you? What could I possibly accomplish in doing that? You've done all this to yourself. This eternal hunt, this life…you know it's your fault. Somehow, you're connected to their deaths. Somehow, you're responsible for putting _them_ on the ceiling. _Their_ blood is on your hands, in your crib, and if it wasn't for you then maybe…they'd still be alive. You'd still have a family. A mother who is alive, a father who is there, and a brother…who could have a life of his own,"

Sam wasn't sure what hurt worse, the throbbing of his back or the ache in his heart. He tried to reconcile with his conscience- the vampire was just reading his buried thoughts, picking up the ones that hurt the worse and whipping them at him. Now was not the time for a guilt trip. Yet, he couldn't help the tears watering in his eyes, masking his clear vision, and he looked at whatever he could to focus. His eyes fell on the flickering candles, and he watched the flames bounce the light to the walls for a few moments, but unfortunately it brought his memory back to Jessica's death.

_I could have stopped it. She could still be alive. _

"You can try and pretend to be strong. You can try and believe that this guilt is only temporary. But this will never go away. Her blood will always stain your soul, no matter what anyone tells you and you will _not_ be convinced otherwise. Do you know why? Because it's not just that you _feel_ guilty, Sam. It's because you _are_ guilty. You see it in Dean's eyes when he tells you none of this is your fault. He's just telling you what you want to hear, when really…he knows as well as you do that you are to blame. Isn't that right?"

Sam lost his voice, or maybe he had it, but he had no words to speak.

"At a loss for words, boy?" the vampire spat, and Sam hazarded a bitter look at him. "You should be happy for an ending like this. You'd be doing everyone you care about a favor by dying. Especially Dean…"

"Stop it," Sam didn't mean for his voice to break as he spoke. He didn't mean to sound like the vampire's words were affecting him. But even Sam couldn't lie to himself.

"Ah, I know where your silent prayers are going now," the vampire said, taking a step towards Sam who tried not to flinch from the sudden movement. "You want big brother to wake up, to remember everything, and come to your rescue, yes?"

Sam didn't answer, only cringed at the bastard's impeccable ability to strike the wrong nerve at the right time.

"Come on, little hunter…aren't you going to put up a fight?" the vampire addressed Sam's weakening balance. Physical attacks weren't the only attacks that could bring someone to their knees. Words hurt just as much and sometimes more, as Sam was finding out. The vampire let out a forced sigh. "Pity. I was looking forward to the struggle,"

Before Sam could blink he felt ice cold hands gripping his neck. Sam was forced to drop his stake and place both hands on the vampire's arms, a sort of innate reaction to try and break free, to breathe again. Sam shut his eyes. He suddenly felt the crushing sense of fate coming over him, and with all the guilt he held inside he knew he deserved to suffer. He stared directly into the vampire's eyes, who stared back at him with ridicule and malevolence.

"You hate this feeling," the vampire whispered harshly into Sam's ear, carefully extracting the young Winchester's fleeting thoughts. "This feeling of suffocation. It's not just that you want to breathe, but you want to be free, to let go and fade away and be done with it. You hate living sometimes, and so Dean is forced to live for you. You're tired of him breathing for you, aren't you? Do you want to let go, Sam?"

Sam wanted to reply but had no resolution in mind of what he could say. And before his vision was obscured by life's finality, he felt himself fall nearly limply to the floor. He inhaled tiredly, rapidly, and regretted every breath he took in.

"I won't take your life," the vampire said, kneeling down beside Sam's fidgeting body. He was trying to stand again, and the vampire put a hand down on his back, strong enough to force Sam completely flat against the floor again. Sam was just barely able to look towards the vampire and see the smirk curving on his ghostly pale face as he began to speak a gain. "But your brother will,"

And as he heard the words, Sam's eyes widened with disbelief and fear, putting delight into the vampire's expression. Sam then felt himself lifted up by his shirt, forced to stand upon his legs that would readily give out again if the vampire released him, and he looked defeated against the vampire's cold glare.

Sam then did the one thing he'd always resort to when in such a situation, caught in the hands of death. The one thing that made him feel as weak as an infant, as helpless as a child, but the only thing that made sense to the little brother in Sam. "Dean…" he let out a small cry for his brother, one he hardly heard himself speak. The defenseless warrior in him knew that calling out for Dean was the last and greatest tactic now, even though he wasn't sure why he thought Dean would show up to save him now; nor was he sure he was worthy of being saved…

"Dean!" Sam yelled with more energy now, the only energy he had left. The vampire shot Sam a wicked look.

"Where your brother is now…he can't hear you. How does it feel to be alone, Sam? How do you enjoy the abandonment?"

And Sam knew that Dean wasn't abandoning him, that this was all the vampire's doing….but he had to mull over the questions because he _did_ feel alone at this moment.

But Sam refused to answer and refused to believe he couldn't save Dean. He had to try, had to fight. And mustered whatever strength he thought he might have into standing for himself, relenting against the vampire's armored grip. The vampire just watched in a humorous state as Sam was standing on his own, taking a meek step backwards against a wall.

"You believe you're a lot stronger than you are. You can thank your dear brother for that hindering lie," the vampire laughed. Sam narrowed his eyes, then suddenly remembered the vial of holy water he put in his pocket. He discreetly pulled it out behind his back and quietly opened the vial, keeping his eyes on the vampire who had now turned away to continue his bout of laughter. And without hesitation, Sam stammered forward and flung the water on the vampire's face.

The vampire's laughter halted and gave way to an unnerving growl of pain. He put his hands to his face and faltered unsteadily a few steps back. Sam took the moment to dive for the stake that was on the floor, and when he raised himself up again he was knocked away with such animosity that he felt it'd be a miracle if he'd still be breathing when he landed.

And Sam felt himself knocked down onto the old bed that was in the room, and he stared up at the ceiling and gasped for air again. The vampire stepped to the side of the bed next to the table with the candles. He put his hands delicately over the tiny flames, as if he was now in a state of mesmerized thought. His face had burn marks on it that were even redder than they should be against his pale features.

"That's a fight I was expecting," he said blankly, taking his eyes away from the candles over to Sam, who seemed to be dizzy as he couldn't much focus on the vampire. "The same fight I knew you'd lose," And with that, the vampire held his arm back and swung down hard on Sam's face, forcing him unconscious.

-:-

Dean's eyes shot open and he immediately sat up taking in a huge breath as if he'd been denied it for far too long. His first reaction was to the pounding pulse throbbing in his neck, and he placed a hand over it and his fingers traced the two, small punctures. He hissed with pain and brought his hand back in front of him to see red liquid on his fingers. His next reaction had his pulse increase, and he suddenly felt betrayed by himself for delaying the thought.

_Where was Sam?_

He glanced around the room, a new wave of coldness hitting him in the already cold room. He struggled for a moment to stand, and practically crawled at first to get to the wine cellar where his brother had previously been locked in. When he saw the door was open and the cellar was empty, he wanted to panic. He wanted to worry that something had happened to him, wanted to set out immediately and find Sam to make sure he was okay…and he almost did worry, almost did set out in a search…but he didn't.

Instead, he simply stood there in the vacant doorway face to face with the bitter truth.

_Sam left. Again._

And it didn't matter that there were other possibilities for Sam's absence. The only thing that made sense to Dean now as the fact he was alone and it was Sam's fault…because he abandoned him. And Dean hated himself for allowing that to happen.

_How could he leave?_

_**It doesn't matter. He's gone now, and you're better off without him.**_

Dean agreed with the strange thoughts floating in his head as if he had no will to do otherwise. Sam had left, just like Maeron said he would…and suddenly everything else Maeron said was clearing in his mind, a startling revelation that Dean was now ready to embrace.

_I am made for greater things. This life is not worth it. I don't need Sam._

_I don't have to be alone…_

"_Dean…"_

He heard it…not so much a memory, not so much a voice…but a _feeling_ that he was being called. It was the voice of his brother. He shook it off, but something inside him was pulling at him to tune into it, to respond…

"_**Dean!"**_

And there it was again; more urgent this time, more desperate…and it commanded him to react.

-:-

He didn't know how he got upstairs so quickly, how he knew exactly where the panic-stricken voice of his brother was coming from…He just knew. It was as if he saw it before even wondering where it could be coming from. And also, there was some kind of new strength in him, some new speed that he found both appealing and frightening. He had moved so quickly, so effortlessly…

By the time he reached the candlelit doorway he stopped, froze…stood in the darkened hall and waited. It didn't take long for it to get to him…that scent…

Dean couldn't understand what exactly the scent was, why he wanted to relish in its lingering aroma…why it was luring him into the room. He couldn't understand, wouldn't understand, but didn't need to understand…for when he pushed the door open and stepped into the room…

All rational thoughts left him…and all he had was an insatiable thirst, one that quickened his pulse so much that the pain in his neck had swarmed over his entire body, leaving him without any feeling at all…except for desire.

He wanted blood, needed blood…

And there the scent was…the human flesh of the broken man lying on the broken bed…

And it took a moment before this obscure yearning waned and gave way to a stronger, defiant nature…

_It's not possible…_

It took only a moment for Dean to realize this blood he was craving…was his brother's.

_Sam…_

And in only a moment…

**-You want his blood. You _need_ his blood.-**

It became evident…

**-But you don't need _him_.-**

That brother or not, he was eager to take Sam's life.

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_To be Continued…_

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_I really liked this part, and for as much as I struggled with it I believe I am pleased with the result and I hope you are, too… Thanks for reading…You readers are **wonderful** and so is your feedback. _

_Silver Kitten_


	9. To Take as Yours

**The Beckoning**

Chapter Nine: To Take as Yours

Author's Note: Hey, wish I could say I've just been enjoying myself on vacation, but…alas, I've only gotten bombarded with the sometimes boring, sometimes hectic events of real life (more recently hectic—but I'll save the rant). Can I just say that I love you all for reading, and I love your reviews? Even if I can't, I'm still going to say it. I love you all!

So, I cut this chapter in half because I'm working out some kinks in the latter and, most likely, last part of this story, and felt it cruel and unnecessary to keep you waiting even longer than you have been. With that said, I'll finish this author's note at the end, no more waiting.

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Dean felt a cold twist in his stomach, a lurid hunger he'd never felt before, as he stared at his brother. Without realizing it, he'd walked over to the bedside with a surprising smoothness to his movements. Maeron stood on the opposite side of the bed where Sam lay still, almost peaceful looking, but Dean didn't acknowledge the vampire at first-only kept his eyes on his brother.

"Human life is so fragile, so meager, isn't it?" Maeron remarked, looking over the unconscious hunter with mocking sympathy. "And we…_you_ now hold such power over them, over _him_. You feel it, yes?"

Dean could only slowly nod.

"This is only the beginning, friend. It starts with him…taking his life. And once you do that, you have the whole world to take as yours," Maeron coaxed, sending Dean a menacing smile. "Think of the power, and all we could do with it. If only," the vampire paused, lifted Sam's arm and held his wrist firmly, "If only you taste the possibility…"

And Dean's eyes followed to Sam's wrist, watched as Maeron slid Sam's sleeve up his arm, and then he saw the gleam of a blade suddenly pass over the flesh of his brother.

"I'm going to make this easier for you," the vampire said, catching a look of disapproval from Dean.

"Will it hurt?" Dean asked, taking note of the well-sharpened dagger in the vampire's clasp.

"…Pain, like life, is only temporary. And in death, naught of pain matters…for death is the end of all things, physical discomfort included. Of course," the vampire chuckled, "I can make it hurt, extend the pain, if you so choose…"

Dean gave a pitying glance at the vampire before looking back to Sam, and then he said, "No...make it quick,"

The vampire turned expressionless for a moment. **_So you still hold some sense of mercy, hunter. I shall change that soon enough._**

"Very well," Maeron snapped. Then he eagerly slid the blade of the dagger across Sam's wrist, and red liquid dripped heavily from the new wound in fine rivulets down the young Winchester's arm. And the vampire watched as Dean forcefully held himself away, fixated with the crimson lust, and he saw in Dean's eyes the raw intensity that for so long he longed to harbor for his own, dark purposes.

And Dean couldn't breath, his heart began beating a million times faster at the sight of blood overpowering the scent and igniting the appetite. And at first he wanted to grab the wrist away from Maeron and take the bleeding trophy to his lips and drink the life, the passion, the power…

But something happened…something stopped him…a voice, quiet and compassionate and familiar that resonated with something deeply buried inside.

'_You're my brother, and I'd die for you…'_

It was Sam's voice, a memory, a thought—a truth. And Dean knew it was sickeningly wrong to see his brother's blood, regardless of his furious desire for it. "Stop," Dean found his voice, shaky but firm, and he grabbed for the dagger and tossed it to the floor. "I'm not going to kill him,"

"You don't have a choice," Maeron was visibly angered by Dean's actions, and his voice took a new tone of contempt. "And besides, after all this rat has done to you, after all the pain and all the lies…you'd let him live?"

"It's nothing you'd understand," _It's nothing I understand…but I still believe in it…_ Dean knocked the vampire's hands away, taking Sam's wrist and applying pressure. And he was relieved Sam was still asleep.

"You're a fool. Sam needs to die, don't you see? He'll hold you back, away from yourself…away from whom you're meant to become. Sam's death is imminent, and if you won't kill him, than I shall do it for you,"

The next thing Dean felt was his back hitting the wall behind him before he could protest. He leaned against the wall for support only for a moment as he steadied his gaze on Maeron, baring vicious fangs, leaning down towards Sam's neck.

"Get away from him!" Dean yelled, scrambling towards the vampire. He lunged forward, striking the vampire off guard, not realizing Dean's determination and strength were only intensified by the new vampire senses developing within him. Dean and the vampire struggled beside each other, one trying to reach Sam, the other trying to make Sam unreachable.

"You're making a mistake; you have no idea what you're doing!"

"I'm keeping you away from my brother!"

"That's quite humorous," the vampire slammed Dean against the wall, causing the window next to him to crack slightly. "Just a moment ago you were ready to drink the life right out of him. Just moments ago you felt as you've felt your entire life—alone! He left, like everyone leaves you, like everyone will _always_ leave you…"

And Dean was somehow weakened by the words and the sad honesty behind them, and he let his eyes wander away from the vampire to Sam…to Sam's wrist as it bled…and still he wondered, did Sam deserve this? Was he fighting a battle that he'd never win? Sometimes it is best to surrender…

_But sometimes you've just gotta fight…_

"Yeah," Dean muttered bitterly, placing an imposing glare on the vampire. "Well, Sam came back, didn't he? That's got to mean something,"

And Dean threw the vampire off him, spotted Sam's wooden stake on the floor nearby and decided to go for it. Before blinking he had it in his hands and looked around for Maeron who was no longer in sight.

"Let's see how well you fight in the dark, hunter," Dean heard Maeron's echoing voice coming from the black, lightless hallway. He gripped the stake and took off running quite literally blind into the darkness, hoping he'd somehow be able to detect exactly where this vampire had gone.

"I'm not afraid of the dark," Dean said, almost believing himself. He spotted a quick movement in the shadows down at the end of the hall, nearing the stairwell and he chased it. He heard something behind him fall, something roll, but did not turn around. He focused in the shadows to see, felt something in him aiding his sight as the darkness cleared just a bit and he was able to make out a shape, and then another, and then as he began turning around he saw Maeron.

"That's right," the vampire once again pinned him to the wall, and Dean heard the malicious grin in his voice. "It's not the dark that frightens you, but the _fire_," and as the vampire spoke the words, and Dean's thoughts fell on the last, he felt a chill traveling down his body through his nerves, every vessel and every cell. He saw the light, the faint glow down the hall, felt the heat.

Somehow, the candles were knocked, or pushed, to the floor, and the room caught fire.

_Sam's in that room, the room that's on fire…_

Dean felt the fear well inside his chest, confusion tore away at him, and he knew he had to get to Sam. Using everything he had, propelled by every unidentifiable emotion coursing through him, he managed to release himself from the vampire's grasp and drive the wooden stake in his chest.

At the same time he drove the stake in the vampire's heart, Dean felt something tighten in his chest, and the tightening hurt wrenched through the whole of him and he was brought to his knees, one palm against the floor to hold him up and the other pressing his chest.

He hid himself as best he could from the flailing vampire beside him, who had yelled in a silent scream of true shock and defeat before crumbling to dust. And Dean, for a moment, thought he felt his heart stop beating, but as he felt it beat again, and again, and again, he felt truly alive and free of some burden he'd recently been given. Free of the burden of some lonely life rich in death and destruction, with no true satisfaction, just survival. Pain and confusion washed over him. His thoughts and memories were hazy, but one element focused clearly: Sam.

And as he took in a long inhale, he held it in from the crushing sensation of grief claiming his ability to hold himself upright. He realized Sam was still in the burning room.

Dean started off at a crawl, trying to find his strength to stand, to run to Sam, and as he neared the doorway and saw the flames clawing the bed…he heard a voice, a memory…

He saw the smoke, saw the fire, felt the heat and the fear and the pain, the same pain but a different hallway, a different _home _from another time long ago…

"**_Take your brother outside as fast as you can!"_**

There were broken images of a man handing a child over to him, broken images placing themselves together in perfect sense.

"_**And don't look back!"**_

The baby was Sam and Dean held him tightly…and he understood the wordless promise he made that he'd protect his brother from that moment on.

"**_Now Dean—GO!"_**

And as he stared helplessly at the fire, his memories were beckoning him to remember.

_Remember for Sam, you have to save him…Remember…_

And as one memory kicked in, it triggered the others and soon his mind was flooded with more frenzied images and sounds, different places and different faces, and he remembered who he was and what he did. And like an innate behavior he knew he had to save Sam, to take him away from the fire, because Sam was his brother and Dean loved him, and Dean _remembered_ him, as he remembered it was his dedicated purpose to protect his little brother.

_Get up—get to Sam—save him!_

And by something stronger than a second nature, or a first nature, or born instinct- Dean ran to Sam.

He forced himself up and ran to the doorway with fire now blocking safe entrance and flames that circled the bed. He shielded his eyes from the sight, covering his face with his arm momentarily. Disorderly thoughts muttered in his mind, and some of the vampire's words rang back to him. He knew somehow he'd lost a potential to own the world, to take it as his own, but as he knew that he did not care. Because he knew he didn't want to take the world as his own, didn't need the world—just needed his brother, his family. And he felt ill with sorrow knowing he almost gave his brother up for an uncaring world. Almost…

"Sam!" he yelled, wishing Sam would wake up. "Sam, come on, I can't,"—he winced as a flame sparked towards him, the heat seething across his face. _I can't do this alone, I won't._ "Sam!" he watched in horror as the fire was making its way up the bed, eating away at the mattress and straining in agony to bite Sam. He exhaled rapidly, knowing the next move he made wouldn't be the smartest, but people didn't do the smartest things in desperate situations.

He swatted through the fire and jumped to a fortunately bare spot on the floor unmarked by flames and then leapt atop the burning bed, pulling the still-unconscious Sam up towards him.

"I've got you, Sam," he said, carefully placing Sam in his arms, prepping to carry him over his shoulder. "I'm getting you out of here, getting you safe,"

He knew they couldn't leave the way he came. The fire was quickly spreading and the only way out was the window. Dean lifted Sam and himself off the bed, away from the fire and stood near the corner while glancing outside through the cracked window glass. Leaning Sam against him in a slightly standing position, Dean used his elbow to break the window and the edge of his jacket to swipe away the remaining fragments of glass along the border.

After precariously hoisting his brother outside the window he set him on the roofing ledge that hung out about a foot away from the house, making sure the area was free of any shards of glass. He then stepped over himself, landing clumsily near Sam in an upright position. Dean gave Sam a skeptical, tired look while he ignored his growing headache.

"If you're _pretending_ to sleep through _any_ of this, I swear I'll"—

The older Winchester halted in his words as a low moan escaped from his brother. Sam tilted his towards the sound of his brother's voice but kept his eyes shut.

"Dean?"

"Sam! Are you okay?" Dean scolded himself for forgetting about Sam's wrist wound. He tore part of his shirt and went to wrap Sam's wrist, who only flinched and exhaled painfully. "Hold still, let me tighten this,"

"What happened?" Sam groggily asked, finally opening his eyes.

Dean turned around behind him and peeked at the fire growing closer to them.

"Well, I'll spare you the details. Vampire's dead, you're bleeding because that bastard slit your wrist, and this house is burning to the ground with us on it,"

Sam eyed the spacious surrounding, taking notice of the ground two stories below them.

"We gonna jump?" Sam questioned, feeling a bit uneasy. Dean huffed out a laugh.

"Unless you _want_ to break my fall, we're gonna crawl over to that window over there and exit the house by using the stairs, like normal people would. Any more questions, College Boy? Or can we get the Hell off this roof?"

"What did you call me?" Sam perked up at the nickname. Dean, when he was himself, had called him that and Sam was almost reluctant to believe that through all this, his brother finally got his memories back. He was tired of getting his hopes up.

"Uh, College Boy? Super Geek, Piss Head—I can call you a million things, little brother. And I'll start calling you worse if you don't get that scrawny butt of yours moving towards that other window,"

Suddenly, Dean felt arms wrap around him, and Sam's shoulder rammed into Dean's neck, slightly cutting off circulation.

"You remember! You're back!"

"Air—please—" Dean patted Sam's back, trying to get his attention before he blacked out.

Sam pulled back, but kept his hands on his brother's shoulders. When Dean saw the waterworks in Sam's eyes, he realized he must have missed something, and confusion drew in.

"Dean, I…"

"Whoa," Dean held a hand up. "Pause the chick-flick moment. And look," he put his hand below Sam's chin, forcing him to look in the room behind him littered with flames. "See that? It's called fire. Fire bad,"

Sam shook out of his state of elated shock and nodded. He was so mesmerized to have Dean back that he had forgot about everything else.

"Right, sorry," Sam mumbled, while composing his balance as he tried to stand, Dean helping him. The two walked the narrow ledge to another window. When Sam was about to break the glass, Dean stopped him with a harrowing glare.

"Not with that wrist, buddy," he said, and broke the window on his own. "You need to take it easy until I can get that patched up for you,"

"Patched up? I'm not a doll, Dean," Sam rolled his eyes with a grin, stepping inside the empty room while clutching his wrist.

"Yeah," Dean smirked teasingly, "But I bet you'd give Barbie a run for her money if you went blonde,"

Sam only laughed, taking a few steps away so Dean could climb over the window. As he walked towards the door, he realized he didn't even mind the pain in his wrist so much, couldn't really concentrate on the pain. All he could think about was that he had his brother back, and he couldn't be happier. And he knew once they were back outside and away from fire, away from danger, they'd have a lot to discuss.

And when he expected to hear the crunching of broken glass from his brother's footsteps, instead he heard the sound of wood snapping. The house creaked, and Sam's entire world shook as he heard his brother yell.

Sam turned around, hoping against hope that he'd see his brother landing on the floor next to him and not on the ground two stories down. And when Sam turned around, his heart sank into his stomach, as he turned to face a lonely window.

Dean wasn't there.

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To be continued…

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_I know- evil cliffhanger. I only did it because I enjoy torturing my readers…I mean, uh…because I need to fix the last chapter…that's it. Hehe…hmm, Dean got his memories back, but it appears he's fallen again…would I not be the most cynical person in the world to have him lose his memories again? Haha, don't worry, I won't do that. _

_Sorry if the vampire's exit seemed abrupt…I didn't do as well with the vampire sentiment of this story as I anticipated I could, so all I have left to do is try something with it later on after I work more on developing my personal take on vampires. _

_Oh, and I had been doing some research on how amnesiac victims get their memories back, and no, it's not that they injure their head again and -bump- they remember everything. I read somewhere that there's some trigger involved, and when that memory trigger is turned on, usually the rest of the memories follow. And I thought it'd only be appropriate for Dean's trigger to be that sudden super-brother mode he goes into when he sees Sam in danger (like in a fiery room). I love their brotherly love! _

_I went for some action writing in this part, and I know I'm not the best action writer, because I usually focus on drama type stuff. So, any feedback in particular reference on how to write better action scenes is well appreciated. I'll use any constructive criticism I can and put it to practice for writing better action and such, and just better writing in general. **Thanks so much for reading**, I'll quit bothering you now. _

_Silver Kitten_


	10. Like a Sunrise

**The Beckoning**

Chapter Ten: Like a Sunrise

Author's Note: You can't hear me now, but I'm screaming. I've already cried and laughed, but now I'm reduced to tiny screams of excitement—for finally, I have finished this story. AND FINALLY I CAN UPLOAD IT! I've tried for two days, and yes...sorry for the delay. Over the next few days, every reviewer should expect a response from me, I'll tell you that. Right now, however, I'd like to firstly thank everyone in general who is reading/reviewing this story. You don't know how happy you've made me, really, all of you are terribly encouraging and wonderful. I seriously couldn't have pulled this story off without you guys to motivate me. Thank you so much.

I really struggled with this part, as some of you might understand. I really wanted to pull everything together and tie it in a pretty bow and send it off to you wrapped up perfectly…and so I did my best, re-write after re-write, to accomplish just that. In the end, I'm surprisingly pleased with the outcome, and it's really hard for me to admit I'm proud of my own work. No more waiting, here's the conclusive last chapter of The Beckoning.

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Sam wasn't sure if he called out for his brother or not because he couldn't hear anything, including himself, past the pounding of his heart beating against his chest. He couldn't even feel himself run to the window, just watched in horror as he neared it at a rate too slow and too quickly for his liking.

_Please be there…_

His hands braced the sill of the window and a breath caught in his throat as he saw his brother holding onto the broken roofing along the side of the manor.

"A little help would be nice," Dean grunted, trying to pull himself back up and reclaim his footing. Sam hunched over the window and grabbed his brother's wrists, pulling him up as best he could until he could get a better grip on his hands. Dean, under normal circumstances, would have protested the notion of getting help from his little brother, but even Dean was one to compromise…as rare as those occasions may arise.

"Hold on," Sam said, with one final heave as he and his brother toppled back onto the floor; Sam fell on his back and Dean on his stomach and their shoulders collided.

"Well, I wasn't planning on letting go," Dean cracked a small smile, lifting himself up and nudging his brother to do the same, who was still catching his breath from the rush of adrenaline. "Come on now, let's go. We can nap later,"

Sam ignored his brother's teasing and ran out the door after him.

The hallway was full of smoke and the heat of the flames trailing the hallway filled the air. Without thinking, Dean took his jacket off and shoved it in Sam's face, urging him to hold it there so he wouldn't breathe in too much smoke. He then pushed Sam in front of him and helped guide him down the stairs, leaving Sam without time to argue that Dean should also worry about himself and not just his little brother. It was a futile argument anyway.

-:-

Making it outside the manor, the boys took in deep breaths of fresh air while continuing to run as far away as they could. The stopped once they reached the iron gates and Dean met the sight of his beloved Impala.

"I really should train her how to come to us when I whistle or something," Dean mused, rubbing a hand over her shiny, black top.

Sam laughed. "Only you, Dean,"

The two leaned against the car and took in the view of the manor burning down, flames erupting from the edges of windows and smoke towering up to the indigo sky. The cool night air didn't do much to erase the memory of the intense heat of fire against their bodies once more, as nothing really ever could. They watched for a few minutes, allowing their bodies a few moments to regain strength.

"Maybe we should get going, before the cops arrive," Dean suggested.

"You think anyone will show up for this place?"

"I don't feel like chancing it right now,"

Sam nodded and then tossed Dean his jacket back. "Thanks, by the way, but you didn't,"—

"I know, but I did. Deal with it," Dean interrupted his brother before he could finish. He then did his best to hide a faint smile and opened up the driver's side door. Sam shook his head and gave a sigh, walking over to the passenger side and climbing in. When he noticed Dean's most confused and frustrated expression as he'd ever shown, Sam understood why.

"You might need these," Sam jingled the keys to the Impala, and Dean's heart, out so his brother could see them gleam in the darkness. Dean swiped them, held them to his chest a moment, then stuck them in and turned the ignition on.

"She's still running, that's a good sign,"

"Hey," Sam became slightly annoyed. "I could handle her. I'm just as responsible as the next guy,"

"Nah," a grin emerged on Dean's face. "You're more responsible," and with that, he put the car into gear and took off. Once he reached the main highway, his confusion returned. "Um, maybe you want to remind me where we're going?"

Sam laughed lightheartedly, nodding in agreement.

The remainder of the car ride was fairly quiet. Dean kept the radio off and Sam suspected that maybe his head hurt. He wasn't going to press him for answers yet. That could wait until they were back at the motel.

Dean kept his eyes on the road but frequently noticed his younger brother staring at him in the corner of his eye. He wanted to tell him to quit it, but he knew questions would arise as well as answers that he wasn't ready to hear just yet. It could wait until they were back at the motel.

However, ten minutes into the quiet drive, Sam couldn't take it anymore.

"Dean,"

Dean flinched, glanced over at Sam and back at the road.

"How's your wrist?" he asked, ignoring Sam's attempt to start a much-needed conversation. Sam sunk a little in his seat and for the first time looked directly away from his brother. He'd seen that look before from his brother, the kind of look that suggested whatever was keeping his thoughts should wait for a better time, a different time…_any_ time but the present.

"Fine," Sam said effortlessly. It wasn't even a word so much to him anymore as it was another form of exhaling. "Oh, and take a left at the next intersection. The motel is on the right a couple miles down," he tried not to sound angry or upset, because at the moment he wasn't much of anything short of relieved and thankful.

Dean could only pick up on what he thought was hidden frustration in Sam's voice and felt a pang of guilt for being the cause of it.

He suddenly wondered about what his little brother had been through recently, and even wondered a bit about what he'd gone through without really realizing it. He pulled the car over to the side of the road and shut the ignition off.

"What are you doing?" Sam couldn't help but ask, looking back at the empty highway behind them and the empty highway before them.

"Okay, so let's get this over with,"

Sam eyed him suspiciously. "You're not going to kill me _now_, are you? After all that?"

"No," Dean scrunched his face with disapproval at the thought, and then softened his expression. "Let's just talk."

"Talk?"

"Did I stutter?"

"No, it's just…"

"What?"

"Do you remember that you didn't remember?" Sam asked, with the question as puzzling to him as it was to Dean, who scratched his head.

"Well, right now things are kind of…fuzzy. I mean, I know who you are and who I am, and I know 'the truth is out there', and…the last thing I clearly remember is…" Dean paused and found it difficult to hold eye contact with Sam. "Back at the manor, you left…I guess I pissed you off or something and then…" he paused again, reflecting on their past argument. "…then a little here and there…bits and pieces, and suddenly you're lying on a bed in a room that's on fire,"

"And then you just remembered?"

"Yeah, it was like that feeling you get when you've overslept, and suddenly you wake up all startled and crap, and time's moving a lot faster then it should," Dean trailed off a moment, rubbing his temples and for once felt glad he took the time to pull over and have this talk, take this break. He then put his eyes back on Sam's. "Just, seeing you there like that…I didn't even care where I was or what had been happening, or that I didn't know. I just had to…well, I…I needed…"

"To save me from the fire," Sam finished with a sad smile. _Save me like you always do._

Dean nodded. "Yeah," was all he could seem to say.

"I have a confession," Sam said suddenly, and Dean was worried when he saw the mistiness in his brother's eyes.

"Great. Do I want to know?"

"I…" Sam began, then turned away from Dean and shut his eyes. "I need some air," he added, quickly opening the door and stepping outside. Dean was already doing the same before Sam could even shut his door.

"Are you okay? What is it?"

"No, I don't know…God, Dean, I thought you were gone…I didn't know if you'd ever come back,"

"Sam,"

"You were so different, so…normal. You didn't have walls to put up, you didn't have secrets you had to keep…you didn't have me to burden you,"

"What the…what's that supposed to…"—

"The crazy thing is," Sam continued, ignoring his brother's confused protests, "I was happy for a while, kind of relieved. I thought, well now you can have a better life, one without monsters and demons, without…hunting. And I wanted you to have that life so bad…and I…I wondered what if this was your chance. If your amnesia was the key to a better, safer life…I didn't even care what you'd want,"

"Hey," Dean rested his hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezed. "I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere. I came back, and…I understand. You don't need to feel guilty for wanting me to have better. I would have wanted the same for you. If wanting to keep painful memories away from those you care about is so terrible, then we're all terrible."

Sam bit his lip, trying to keep himself from crying and looking weak in front of his stronger, more confident in his rough exterior, brother.

"There's more to it than that,"

"Isn't there always?" Dean tried to lighten the situation and Sam sighed heavily.

"Dean, if I would have let you go live some other life, and later on you somehow remembered everything…you'd think I had abandoned you, that I left you…you would have hated me,"

"But that didn't happen, did it? And besides, I would never hate you. I _will_ never hate you. Don't be such a pussy," Dean ruffled Sam's hair. Sam didn't seem to notice.

"Or worse, some monster could have attacked you off guard, could have killed you…and it'd be my fault because I didn't warn you. I wasn't going to tell you about our life…the only reason I did was because of that damn vampire, and…"

"We know better than anyone else in this world that the past is something that can't be changed, no matter how much we want to change it. What's done is done, Sam. All this will be a memory, so just forget about what you almost did or didn't do, all right? You're okay, I'm okay…we're okay. Now, things can start going back to…the way they were," Dean spoke sternly but softly, completely squeezing every drop of the 'I'm the older brother and I'll take care of you' tone in his words.

The younger Winchester squirmed in his stance, and how tired he was at fighting against his tears that so eagerly came to him in the past few days.

"I really missed you, you know?" Sam said, and a small tear finally escaped from his eyes and fell to the gravel below.

A single tear from Sam was all it took for Dean's heavy, impenetrable wall to crack and crumble, to be crushed beneath the weight of something greater: the love and concern for his brother.

"Come here, you little punk," Dean, in spite of himself, found it too easy to wrap both arms around his brother and pull him tightly into a hug that Sam comfortably returned.

Sam held on to his brother, almost not wanting to let go. So many worries and thoughts overflowed in his mind and he was consumed with guilt that he'd almost let Dean go forever; he'd almost lost his brother, almost abandoned him again. And with such distractions as the threat of a vampire turning his brother into a night-walking murderer, he realized how close he came to never being able to get Dean back.

And it took all the strength Dean possessed to fight the tears as he felt how strongly his little brother was hugging him, hanging on like he was actually afraid to let go, and it made him tighten his own grip to match Sam's. He only wished he could have prevented this whole ordeal and spared Sam the grief and the pain. And then a thought rang inside his head. Sam was alone through all this which meant…their father was still M.I.A.

"You shouldn't have gone through all this alone," Dean spoke quietly; unnerved at the thought their dad didn't care enough about either of them to see if they were all right. "I can't believe he…"

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered behind Dean's ear. It was as if he sensed he was going to bring up their dad. "Dad never came to see us, but…I think, in his own way, he checked up on us,"

The two parted a bit awkwardly, for a hug so tight is always odd to pull away from. Dean glanced up at Sam with confused tears in his eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"At the hospital, there was some other guy who came to visit but I never saw him. He gave the name of John Winters, according to the hospital secretary. I think…I think it was Dad,"

Dean quickly brushed away tears before they had a chance to leak out. He then composed himself and cleared his throat. "Well, that's Dad for you, isn't it…"

"Dean…before tomorrow comes and we, like usual, forget this whole conversation ever happened," Sam paused with relief when he saw a flicker of a smile flash on Dean's face. "I just want to say that…well, I never really…understood _exactly_ how our mom's death affected you,"

The smile was gone and replaced with a frown. "I don't see what that has to do with anything,"

"You had a nightmare, well, it was a memory coming back to you…it was about the fire, and…you know…all that,"

"Oh…"

"I just wanted to tell you that I get it now. I mean, I got it before, how you felt and why you were in this hunt…but, now I really get it. Does that even make any sense?" Sam tensed up and slightly grinned at how ridiculous his babbling was sounding to Dean. "I mean, you've talked about that night, but to see you reacting to it all over again…"

"Sam, look, whatever happened…"

"You cried," Sam told him seriously, physically pained at the memory. "You cried…and it was weird because for some reason I didn't think you knew how to cry or that you even _could_ cry…"

"Are you calling me a crybaby?" Dean interjected with forced amusement in his voice.

"No, I just…" Sam let out a sigh, realizing he'd never find the right words to say to fit their lifestyle, their situation, and these unpredictable circumstances that left them virtually speechless to begin with. "I'm glad you let some of it out, man. You shouldn't keep it all inside,"

"Hey," Dean nudged Sam a bit hard on his shoulder. "If I didn't, then these chick-flick moments wouldn't be as special, would they?"

Sam laughed quietly. "I guess not,"

"Speaking of which—this whole thing, the hug and the tears and the heart-to-heart—"

"Never happened, I know," Sam continued, not hiding a smile.

"That's my boy," Dean ruffled Sam's hair again, this time making sure Sam took notice.

"Quit it,"

"Aw, you like it, just admit it,"

Sam rolled his eyes and leered. "Let's just get back to the motel now. I don't know about you, but I'm tired,"

And Dean heeded his brother's suggestion. Sleep did sound good…after a nice, hot shower.

-:-

Sam clenched his teeth as Dean made the final, closing stitch on his wrist.

"It's a good thing he didn't cut your wrist any deeper. Ya know, puncture something really bad," Dean mentioned, while wrapping a bandage around Sam's wrist.

"I'm guessing you have a reason why that's such a good thing aside from the obvious factor that I'd have bled to death without proper medical attention?"

"Yeah," Dean scoffed. "Cuz if he did, I'd have to find a way to bring that sucker back to life so I could kick his ass and kill him again,"

Sam grinned and rubbed his uninjured but sore hand over the new bandage. His eyes wandered to his brother's neck and the fading bite marks.

"So, are you okay? I mean, with the whole…" Sam pointed to his own neck and rubbed it.

"Oh, yeah…don't worry about me,"

"Um," Sam coughed forcefully to gain attention. "I think I have the right to worry about you sometimes, too,"

"Yeah, all right, Nanny Sam. I think I'm gonna make it. But right now, I'm going to take a nice, long shower. Do you need to join me so you can check my vitals once every ten seconds?"

Dean was answered with a pillow in his face. He caught the pillow when it began to slide back down, and took a peek at his innocent looking brother who thought nothing of what he'd done, although the smirk on his face said enough. "Okay, you got me, little brother. Happy now?" Dean tossed the pillow back and turned his attention to his duffle bag, digging through for a fresh change of clothes.

"Just for now," Sam concluded, lying down and letting his head plop against the pillow. He shut his eyes. "Wake me when you're done so I can shower,"

"Don't expect me to wake you up anytime soon, Sleeping Beauty,"

"Yeah, good night to you, too, Dean,"

"Night, Sam," Dean said with a sigh, walking towards the bathroom.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam called drowsily from his bed, keeping his eyes shut but maneuvering to a more comfortable sleeping position.

"Yeah?" Dean answered, turning the bathroom light on and facing his brother.

"It's Sammy…you can call me Sammy," Sam explained, sounding already halfway asleep.

Dean gave a quick smile. "Sweet dreams, Sammy,"

Dean shut the door, walked tiredly towards the shower and turned the water on. The cold liquid came rushing out of the showerhead but soon enough warmed up and steam began settling around the tiny bathroom, fogging the mirror. Dean stripped of his torn shirt and tattered jeans, tossing them away and climbed in the welcoming shower.

He allowed the warm water to run down his aching body and calm his tense muscles and weary limbs. Water trickled over his eyes and he shut them, completely submerging himself in the soothing rain. His mind was like a puzzle with missing pieces, and he was searching for them in a haze of jumbled pictures rampaging through his head.

He wasn't entirely sure what happened after the floorboard gave way below him and he fell three stories. He didn't understand what it must have been like not remembering who he was, and he feared how frightening it would be not to remember Sam. He couldn't decide if what he thought might have happened in the past few days actually did happen or not…but he was sure of one thing, understood one thing…and that was that his brother had saved him.

The roles were reversed, if only temporarily, and Sam stepped up and took charge. Dean realized a lot of things could have happened while he was trapped in a state of vulnerability, how easy it would have been for Sam to give up on him. But Sam didn't give up. And for that, and for a lot of other things, Sam was his hero.

Dean wished there was a way he could tell Sam that, but in the Winchester world such things as 'chick-flick' moments were supposed to be rendered unnecessary and trivial, and often a point of weakness that could lead to someone getting hurt—or worse. At least, that's the way it was in John Winchester's world and the world he tried to raise his sons in; the world Dean felt chained to, the world Sam fled from…

_I'm glad you got away, if only for a little while…_

Dean suddenly felt cold and he realized the hot water had run out. He mildly cursed beneath a breath and turned the faucet off, stepping onto the chilling tile floor and dripping water into a slippery puddle. He dried his hair off with a towel and proceeded to dry the rest of his body off, finishing by wrapping it around his waist and moving carefully over to the sink and mirror.

He leaned against the counter, inhaling the warmth of the steam still surrounding him. He took his hand and wiped across the moist mirror, and he jumped as fleeting images flashed before him.

_Sam running. Red words on a mirror. 'I told you I'd come back'. _

Dean flinched, staring into his reflection with odd fascination. His thoughts took him somewhere else, and he found himself looking up at the ceiling in remorse. He remembered the nightmare, the real nightmare…

_His mother staring down. The fire. He fell to the floor and Sam caught him._

He then heard whispered words from Sam that enveloped him in unwavering security.

"_We've still got each other…We'll always have each other…"_

Dean backed up against the door, breathing heavily as the memory of the nightmare took over once more. But as Sam's words replayed in his mind, he found comfort and peace again.

He blinked away newly forming tears as some of the blanks from the past few days began to fill in without warning. He swallowed thickly and tried to remind himself that it was over, but he worried that Sam, and his forsaken ability to hold onto guilt, wouldn't be forgetting this anytime soon.

"Sammy…" Dean sighed, closing his eyes and holding his head in his hands. "I'm gonna find a way to tell you how proud I am of you for everything, I swear. I'm gonna find a way to thank you…"

-:-

The sun had risen and Dean watched through the window as the contrasting colors splayed across the barren horizon. He hadn't been able to sleep; his thoughts wouldn't allow him. Instead he sat in a chair by the window, taking turns glancing between the glowing sunrise and his peacefully sleeping brother. He took in the sunlit scenery, wondering what it might have been to never see the sunrise ever again, how he'd taken so much of this life for granted.

And when his eyes passed back over to Sam's direction, it hit him hard how he'd taken his brother for granted sometimes. Yet, now he'd have the chance to make up for lost time, and he was thankful for it. He wanted to wake Sam up, to have him watch the glory of daylight unfold into the hills in the distance and enjoy it with him…but then he wanted Sam to sleep and to enjoy his sleep, as Dean enjoyed every inhale and exhale that came and went from his brother.

He watched as the sunlight entered the room and washed the tired shadows away from Sam's face. It gave Dean a feeling of renewal to see, and a stray thought came to his mind that Sam's life was as endearing as a sunrise, and like such, held all hope for a new day ahead. He really didn't know where he'd be without Sam and he didn't plan on finding out…so long as the sun rises.

Dean was then distracted by a blinking light coming from the nightstand, indicating a new text message. He carefully walked over and picked up Sam's cell phone, taking a seat as quietly as he could on the noisy spring mattress. He found himself staring a few extra moments then was needed to observe who sent the text.

It was from their dad.

Without anymore hesitation, Dean opened the message and read it.

You deserve answers, but you're not ready to know. I'm proud of you for taking care of your brother. I was at the hospital, but I couldn't let you see me…not yet. It's still not safe. I'm sorry.

And yes, you're right. Dean deserves better. You both do.

Glad you're both safe now.

Dean held the phone in his hands, feeling it almost slip from his grasp and held on more firmly. He glanced back up at Sam who was still sleeping and then again at the text.

Dean thought for a moment about what "better" meant to him.

Right now, he was on road trip with his brother, constantly doing something adventurous, saving lives and kicking demon ass. The greatest part was getting to know his brother more and having Sam by his side, fighting with him. They were partners and made one hell of a team. At first, they were like Batman and Robin, but Sam was proving himself each day to be more than just the sidekick. Now, they were more like Batman and Superman, or the entire team of the Justice League rolled into two brothers with one destiny.

Dean thought again about what "better" meant to him.

He laughed silently, looking over to Sam once more and he wondered what could possibly become better when you already had the _best_?

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_**The End**_

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_Okay, I'm a little misty-eyed here, because I have issues with letting go, lol. I truly hope you liked the ending. This part is my favorite, but it's kind of bittersweet for me. A billion thank you's to each and every one of you, really…thank you. You've given me a ton of inspiration, and now I'm ready to try a new twisted tale for our guys. I've never hit 200 reviews, let alone 100, and I'll never quite get over that. Thank you again for reading. You guys rock beyond words!_

_Silver Kitten_


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